


knife over heart

by grumpeaches



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blink-and-you'll-miss-it allusions to the other WayV members, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Kun makes a brief cameo, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sicheng's entire family is here, Slow Burn, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27953906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpeaches/pseuds/grumpeaches
Summary: ❝ the mandarin word / to bear, 忍 / is written knife / over heart ❞— Excerpt from “Phoning Home to Tell My Grandmother I Survived a Hate Crime,” by Natalie Wee, published in The MarginsA series of events leads to Sicheng's mother thinking that he's dating his roommate, Yukhei. His first mistake is not correcting her, and his second mistake is letting her invite him to Thanksgiving dinner. Now Sicheng has to figure out how to convince his entire family that he and Yukhei are happily in love—without Yukhei finding out that he may or may not be harbouring a bit of a crush. The jury's still out on whether this charade is the best or worst decision he's ever made in his life.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 45
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so this started with me deciding that every ship deserves to have at least one fake dating au, and then it just turned into a very self-indulgent _'how many of my favourite tropes can i squeeze into here'_ fic. shoutout to ameerah, ameer, and fei for tolerating my emotional dms about luwin at random hours of the day, i wouldn't have made it this far without y'all. i hope this was worth the wait!!

Sicheng’s just finished his last class for the day when his phone rings. 

It’s not unusual for his mother to be calling him—they make it a point to have a quick chat at least once a week—but he’d just spoken to her the day before, and he hadn’t thought he’d hear from her again so soon. Vaguely wondering why she might be calling, Sicheng tucks his laptop securely between his left arm and his side before answering the call with his free hand as he makes his way out of the lecture theatre.

“Hey mom,” he greets, half-anticipating to hear bad news.

“Hey baby,” she returns easily. _Guess it’s not bad news then_ , Sicheng thinks to himself. Later, he’ll realise he’d let his guard down too soon, but he’s completely oblivious to the repercussions this seemingly-innocent phone call will have down the line at the moment. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

Sicheng covers the mouthpiece of his phone for a quick second to say bye to one of his classmates as they part ways, only returning to the call when his mother asks if he’s still there. “Sorry, I’m here,” he says. “I just got out of class. Heading back to my room right now to drop my things off.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, I have dinner plans,” he responds without thinking, only realising once the words are out of his mouth that he’d given his mother the perfect opening.

He can almost _see_ the way his mother perks up at that, an edge of curiosity bleeding into her tone even though she tries her best to play it off. “ _Oh_ ,” she says, the single word dripping with all sorts of implications—all of them wrong. “Who’re you meeting?”

The best course of action would be to kill that particular train of thought she’s following before she gets any more invested, he knows. “Yukhei,” he answers quickly. “He’s been stressing over a midterm and I told him I’d treat him to dinner if he made it through the week.”

“That’s nice of you,” his mother responds sincerely, even though Sicheng doesn’t miss the slightest hint of disappointment.

Crisis averted for the moment, but he should probably change the subject before she resumes her questioning. “Why’d you call anyway?” he asks, and then trips over his own words to add, “Not that I’m not happy to hear from you, I mean—”

His rambling is cut off by the sound of his mother’s laughter. “I forgot to ask you yesterday if you’re coming home for Thanksgiving,” she says. “I know you have that big dance showcase coming up, but your sister just called this morning to say she’ll be able to make it and I thought it’d be nice to have the whole family here.”

He knows his parents won’t mind if he chooses to stay on campus over the break. Thanksgiving means little more than extended time-off for them, and it’s not like he doesn’t make time for them otherwise, but the last time all four of them had been together was back in January, for the Lunar New Year. It’d be nice to see his sister and nephew before the year ends, since they usually spend Christmas with her husband’s family. 

“I’ll be there,” he answers, his dorm building coming into view—along with a familiar figure at the front steps. It’s kind of hard to miss him, really. Even if he doesn’t easily tower over most of the people around him, the way girls—and a few boys—dazedly turn their heads when he passes by makes him pretty easy to spot in a crowd.

Yukhei spots him at almost the same time, head turning in Sicheng’s direction as if he’d somehow sensed his presence. It’s hard to explain the way Yukhei _lights up_ when he’s happy, his already-big eyes going wider for a fraction of a second before softening again as his lips pull into a grin bright enough to put the sun to shame. Sicheng had been… overwhelmed, to say the least, the first time that smile had been directed at him.

It still makes his insides twist even now, but he’s gotten better at ignoring it at least.

“Hey!” Yukhei greets once he’s close enough.

Sicheng returns his smile, but not the greeting, awkwardly gesturing at his phone with the hand that’s still clutching his laptop. The laptop in question almost slips from his grasp at the movement, but Yukhei’s there in a second, taking it from him, raising an eyebrow at his phone. _Mom_ , Sicheng mouths, and Yukhei nods in understanding.

“Was that Yukhei?” his mom asks.

Yukhei holds the front door of their dorm open for him, the pair of them making their way up to their room together. “Yeah,” Sicheng answers. “I just got back to my building.”

“I’ll leave you to that then, but before you hang up…” _Oh no_ , Sicheng thinks, _here we go again_. “I hear Susie’s going to be home for Thanksgiving. You remember Susie, don’t you? Lives down the street, you two used to have so many play dates when you were little.”

He barely gets the _yeah_ out before his mother’s talking again, rambling in the way she does when she gets excited. “I met her mom at the salon the other day, and she told me Susie usually spends Thanksgiving at her boyfriend’s, but they’d recently broken up, poor thing—”

“I’m gay.”

Sicheng’s imagined a myriad of ways he could come out to his parents, ever since he was sixteen and realised that the only reason he even showed up to his high school’s soccer games was because he had the hots for their star player, but he’d never once considered it would end up happening in the hallway of his college dorm, over the phone. At least the place is empty save for him and Yukhei. Small mercies, he supposes.

Yukhei’s eyes are about twice as big as they usually are, and on anyone else it’d be terrifying, but he manages to look endearing—well, endearingly stupid, but still. The situation isn’t ideal, but the words are out, and hopefully it’ll give him a reprieve from his mother’s incessant matchmaking at least.

“I’m gay,” he repeats, tilting his head at their door and wordlessly asking Yukhei to get it open. Yukhei obliges; he has a habit of doing whatever Sicheng asks him to without question, and Sicheng tries not to think too deeply into it. “Sorry, I’d planned to tell you and dad in person, but it was never the right time and I just—” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Susie’s nice. All the other girls you’ve tried to set me up with were. They’re just… not my type.”

“Oh,” his mom says, and that’s it for a long, _long_ moment. 

Sicheng steps into their room, closing the door behind him. Yukhei’s eyes never leave his figure, and Sicheng refuses to return his gaze. “I gotta go, mom,” he says eventually, cutting off the awkward silence. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

He stays on the call long enough to say a quick _bye, love you_ , and then he hangs up.

“Sicheng…” Yukhei calls, stepping closer.

He’s not really in the mood to talk about what just happened though, not responding as he tosses his bag onto his chair. Yukhei doesn’t press it, leaning against his desk as he waits. “How was your midterm?” Sicheng asks.

Yukhei groans at that, and the dramatics make Sicheng crack a smile. It’s there and it’s gone, but Yukhei seems to catch it, his entire demeanour brightening as he moves to stand. “It’s over,” he says. “That’s about the only good thing I can say about it.”

“C’mon, big guy,” Sicheng says, clapping Yukhei on the shoulder on the way to the door. He’s not actually that much taller than Sicheng himself, but something about Yukhei just makes him seem bigger than he is, larger than life itself. “I believe I promised you dinner.”

Yukhei beams at that, and it almost hurts to look at him, but Sicheng does anyway. Because Yukhei’s the goddamn sun and Sicheng feels like Icarus most days, wanting to be closer, closer, _closer_ , even though he knows how the story ends.

“Can we get Thai food?” Yukhei catches up to him, tucks his hand against the crook of Sicheng’s elbow, and Sicheng—he doesn’t pull away, not like he would have had it been anyone else. 

“Anything you want, Yukhei.”

*

Halfway through dinner, his phone screen lights up with a few incoming texts, popping up one after another in quick succession.

_I’m sorry about earlier, I was just surprised._

_You know your dad and I love you very much, right? No matter what._

_We can’t wait to see you during Thanksgiving._

_Enjoy your dinner, baby._

He unlocks his phone, responds _I know, I love you both too_ , and then locks his phone again, placing it face down on the table. When he looks up, Yukhei is smiling at him.

Sicheng smiles back.

*

Sicheng had thought coming out to his parents would mean the end of his mother’s endless attempts at setting him up, but he’d severely underestimated her investment in his love life. He wakes up to a text from her; it’d seemed innocent enough at the time, just her telling him about how a friend of hers had a son at the same university who was studying music.

_Cool_ , he’d replied, not sure what else to say.

_He needs a dancer, apparently_ , she’d responded, _For a project or something._

And then: _I passed your number along._

He should be annoyed by his mother giving his number to random people without asking him first, but he _is_ sort of intrigued by this music project, so he lets it slide. He’s in the middle of having breakfast when he gets a text from an unknown number.

_Hi, is this Sicheng? My mom gave me your number, told me you were a dancer?_

He holds his half-eaten bagel between his teeth, wiping his hand on his jeans before answering the text. _Yeah, I’m guessing you’re Kun?_

_That’s me. Is it okay if we meet this afternoon? I’ll tell you about my project and you can decide if you’re interested :-)_

_Sounds good!_

*

Yukhei showing up at the Starbucks where he’s supposed to be meeting Kun is entirely a coincidence. He shuffles over to Sicheng’s table the moment he spots him, strawberry-flavoured atrocity that hardly even passes as coffee in hand.

“Thought you said you were busy,” Yukhei says as he slides into the seat across from him. 

There’s no trace of any sort of accusation in his tone, only mild curiosity if anything, but Sicheng can’t help but tense slightly. “I am,” he responds, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m waiting for someone.”

Sicheng probably imagines Yukhei’s frown at that, because he blinks and it’s gone, his companion as sunny as ever. “Yeah?” Yukhei takes a long sip from his drink, and laughs at the way Sicheng scrunches his nose. “Who’re you meeting?”

“I don’t know. Some guy.” Yukhei’s eyebrows are almost halfway to his hairline when Sicheng realises the implications of his words, and he quickly tries to rectify himself. “Not like that,” he says, kicking Yukhei under the table. “My mom’s friend has a son who’s looking for a dancer for a project. He’s just meeting me to tell me the details.”

Yukhei’s still looking at him strangely, and Sicheng picks up his coffee mug, hoping it manages to cover the heat in his cheeks at the attention. “Don’t you have class across campus in like…” Sicheng checks his watch. “Ten minutes?”

“Nah,” Yukhei answers easily, settling further into the seat. “It got cancelled. I’m completely free for the rest of today.”

“You’ve got an essay due next week that you haven’t started on.”

Yukhei winces at the reminder. “I’ll do it this weekend.”

Sicheng doesn’t have the heart to send Yukhei away, and it’s not like he really wants to either. Sicheng’s never really been good with people, and he’d been anxious pretty much the entire morning just thinking about the upcoming meeting. His nerves had quieted when Yukhei had gotten there though; there’s something about the younger boy that makes Sicheng feel invincible, like he can do anything as long as Yukhei is with him.

Yukhei’s in the middle of recounting a story about the time his brother had chased him around their neighbourhood with a frog— _nine laps_ , he’d exclaimed, waving his hands so animatedly that he almost knocked the drink out of the hand of a poor girl who was just passing by their table—when Kun appears. He’d texted Kun earlier to let him know what he’s wearing and where he’s sitting, but he still startles slightly at the boy’s sudden appearance.

“Hey,” Kun says, smiling. Sicheng doesn’t miss the way his gaze flickers towards Yukhei.

“Hi,” Sicheng returns, and then turns to Yukhei. “He was just leaving.”

Yukhei, the big baby, actually _pouts_. Sicheng thinks he might just die of embarrassment. Kun laughs, but the sound isn’t unkind. “It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t mind if he stays.”

“You’re going to regret that,” Sicheng sighs, trying for exasperation but landing somewhere in the vicinity of fond instead. That happens a lot when it comes to Yukhei. “He’s _very_ opinionated.”

Yukhei sticks his tongue out at him, although he does get up so that Kun can have his seat. Sicheng’s about to suggest dragging another chair over from a different table, but Yukhei drops himself onto the loveseat next to Sicheng before he can get the words out, nudging him with his shoulder. Too surprised to protest, Sicheng shuffles over slightly to make space.

They must make an odd sight, he thinks. Sure, the loveseat is technically big enough to fit the both of them, but it’s a tight squeeze, and he can feel Yukhei’s hand settle on his thigh to keep him from sliding off. There’s no way Kun can see it from across the table, but Sicheng still feels the tips of his ears going hot, suddenly self-conscious.

Yukhei holds his other hand out to Kun. “I’m Yukhei,” he introduces. “You are…?”

Kun takes his hand, shaking it firmly. “Kun.”

“Kun,” Yukhei repeats, an odd timbre to his voice—not quite unfriendly, but anything less than friendly is unusual for the boy. If Sicheng hadn’t known Yukhei as well as he does, he might have missed it entirely. “What’s this project of yours about?”

Kun glances between the two of them again, and Sicheng finds himself holding his breath, waiting to be called out—for _what_ exactly, he’s not really sure—but Kun only smiles as he retrieves his laptop. “It’s for my music production class,” he explains. “We’re supposed to compose and arrange a track and come up with a performance video to showcase it. You’d be the performance aspect of the project—only if you want to, of course. No pressure.”

Yukhei reaches into his backpack that he’d dumped next to the loveseat, and Sicheng wraps an arm around Yukhei’s hip on instinct to keep himself from being pushed off. “What are you…” he starts to ask, but Yukhei straightens up before he can finish the question, his earphones dangling from his hand.

“Good idea,” Kun nods approvingly, turning his laptop around and pushing it towards them. “It’s a little noisy in here.”

The earphones are plugged in, and Yukhei presses one of the buds into his ear, holding the other one out for Sicheng, who wordlessly does the same before hitting play. The track is impressive, to say the least. Even Sicheng’s untrained ear can appreciate the way the different instruments have been layered to construct a cohesive beat, but there’s just one problem…

“Your mom didn’t tell you what style of dance I specialise in, did she?”

Kun’s eyebrows draw together slightly in confusion. “No…” he answers, unsure, and then something seems to click, his expression turning just this side of sheepish. “But you don’t do hip hop or street, do you?”

Apologetic, Sicheng shakes his head.

“He’s classically trained,” Yukhei interjects, arm snaking across Sicheng’s back to grip his opposite shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “Give him an orchestral piece and he’ll come up with the most breathtaking choreography you’ve ever seen.”

“And _he’s_ biased,” Sicheng returns, squirming out from underneath Yukhei’s arm, although he doesn’t protest when Yukhei only laughs and does it again. “It’s a really good track, Kun. Seriously. If I knew anything about choreographing for something like this I’d do it in a heartbeat, but since you’re being graded on this, you should probably get someone who actually knows their stuff.”

Yukhei’s gone unusually quiet, and Sicheng nudges him lightly with an elbow. “You’re thinking too loud,” he teases, grinning at the mildly offended look Yukhei levels at him. “I’m sure Kun will appreciate any suggestion you have cooking up there.”

“I would,” Kun adds.

“The instrumental’s really good, but it sounds a little empty at some parts,” Yukhei says, not bothering to mince his words. Sicheng envies that about him—his confidence in his opinions—because it makes people listen to him. People like Kun, who’s nodding along to Yukhei’s feedback. “I think it would sound better if there was some sort of vocal accompaniment. Not singing, but rap, maybe.”

Kun looks thoughtful as he mulls it over, eventually breaking into a grin. “I think you’re onto something, Yukhei,” he says, turning his laptop back to himself and furiously typing away. “Are you offering?”

“God, no,” Yukhei answers immediately, and Sicheng has the decency to disguise his snicker as a cough. “But I know a guy who’s really into that kinda stuff, writes his own raps and everything. I’m sure he’d jump at the chance to work with a music producer.”

“And if you’re still looking for a dancer, I know someone who might be interested too,” Sicheng adds.

“Yes, please.” Kun looks up from his laptop, gratitude clear in the way he smiles at the both of them. “Sicheng, I’ll text you a copy of the track, and you can forward it to that dancer friend of yours. And to Yukhei too, I guess, so he can forward it to _his_ friend. Thank you both, by the way. Sorry if I kind of wasted your time today.”

Sicheng waves off the apology easily. “You didn’t waste our time,” he assures. “And we’re more than happy to help. As long as you promise that I’ll be the first one you call if you ever do get around to doing something more classical.”

“First and only one,” Kun promises, shutting his laptop and moving to stand. “I’ve got to head to the studio, but I’ll see you guys around.”

Yukhei remains glued to Sicheng’s side on the loveseat even after Kun leaves, and Sicheng doesn’t ask him to move because he’s a masochist apparently. Sicheng’s never really been a big fan of people being touchy with him, but Yukhei is the exception to that—which sucks because it’s not even like the special treatment is mutual. Sicheng’s seen the way Yukhei is with his other friends, and it’s not all that different from how he is with Sicheng.

“Do you have any other plans for today?” Yukhei asks, leaning into his side.

Sicheng moves away under the pretence of turning towards Yukhei to eye him suspiciously. “No,” he answers. “Why?”

“Just wanted to know if you’re free to hangout,” Yukhei shrugs. “Figured we could go watch a movie or something.”

“Hm.” Sicheng takes a moment to consider it, or pretend to, anyway. From the way Yukhei’s already started to pack his things, it’s clear that they both know what his answer is going to be. “As long as you don’t try to trick me into seeing a horror film again.”

“That was one time!” Yukhei laughs.

Yukhei is one of those people who laughs with their entire body, head thrown back, shoulders swaying towards the closest person. Sicheng’s used to the way Yukhei presses his face against Sicheng’s shoulder as he laughs, used to feeling the vibrations from Yukhei’s chest along his arm, used to pretending it doesn’t make his insides ache.

*

Sicheng doesn’t check his phone until they make it back to their room, which is his first mistake. There are two unread texts from Kun, and the first text— _Dude, I’m so sorry_ —is confusing enough, but it’s the second text that really baffles him.

_I didn’t know you hadn’t told your mom about Yukhei._

His mom knows Yukhei; she’d met him when she and his dad had driven over to help him settle into the dorms, and she’s seen him plenty whenever he’d butt in to say hi while Sicheng’s on video calls with her. He’s still trying to figure out what Kun might have meant when his mom calls.

His second mistake is putting his mom on speaker.

“Why didn’t you tell me you have a boyfriend?”

Sicheng freezes, one hand braced against the wall, the other still halfway through pulling his shoe off. He doesn’t miss the way Yukhei’s head snaps in his direction from the corner of his eye. “What—” he just about manages to stutter out after an awkward pause, but his mom’s already barrelling on.

“If you’d just _told_ me you were seeing Yukhei, I wouldn’t have kept trying to set you up on all of those dates.” His mom sighs, and his shoe finally slips off onto their carpeted floor with a quiet thud. He eyes the fallen shoe, still hyperaware of Yukhei’s eyes on him, and briefly contemplates the odds of the ground opening up and swallowing him whole.

“Mom, _what_ —” he starts, and then it dawns on him. “Wait, were you trying to set me up with _Kun_?” It’s not exactly the most pressing matter at hand, but it’s infinitely easier to wrap his head around that than his mom’s mistaken belief that he’s in a relationship with _Yukhei_.

His mom makes a vague sound of agreement. “Not my proudest moment,” she admits. “But how was I supposed to know you already had a hot boyfriend?”

Yukhei snickers at that—involuntarily, if the way his hands fly up to his mouth is any indication—and Sicheng finally turns to face him, the same panic reflected in both of their expressions as their gazes meet. The room goes still, Sicheng hardly daring to breathe, hoping against hope that his mother hadn’t heard.

No such luck, though.

“Yukhei, is that you?” Her voice filters through the phone speaker.

Yukhei raises an eyebrow at Sicheng, a wordless question: _should I answer?_ Sicheng’s tempted to hang up, but he knows it’ll not only delay the inevitable, but also earn him an earful the next time his mom calls. Sighing, he pinches the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb and nods.

“Yes, ma’am,” Yukhei responds, stepping closer to Sicheng’s desk.

“Hi, sweetie,” she says. “I’m really sorry about the whole thing with Kun.”

Sicheng removes his hand from his face, barely-concealed offence written plainly on his face. “Why don’t _I_ get an apology?” He would very much like to think that he’d managed to keep the whine from his voice, but judging from the amused twist of Yukhei’s lips, he’s failed terribly.

“Baby, it’s not polite to interrupt,” his mother admonishes. Sicheng sticks his tongue out at his phone. “Anyway, Yukhei,” she continues smoothly. “Do you have any plans for—”

“ _No._ ” Sicheng snatches up the phone, finally turning the speaker off and placing it against his ear once more as he drops onto the edge of his bed. “Mom, what the hell?”

“ _Language_ , Dong Sicheng.”

Sicheng wisely resists the urge to respond with more swearing. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “But mom, you can’t just invite him without running it by me first. I’m your _son_.” 

“I just want to meet your boyfriend, that’s all,” his mom says.

This is the point where he should correct her, tell her that she’s got it all wrong, and he’s not actually dating Yukhei, but the words stick in his throat. He glances over at Yukhei, sitting on the edge of his own bed, watching Sicheng quietly. It shouldn’t be this hard— _he’s not my boyfriend_ —but he can’t bring himself to say it, not when he knows Yukhei is hanging onto his every word.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me about him,” his mom continues in the face of his silence. “You don’t have to hide him from us anymore.”

Maybe it’s the gentle conviction in her voice, or maybe it’s the way Yukhei reaches out across the space between their beds to place his hand on Sicheng’s knee, but for a moment Sicheng lets himself pretend that this isn’t all a misunderstanding. He imagines what it would be like to have Yukhei as a boyfriend, to bring him home to meet his family—they’d love Yukhei, he thinks, most people do.

His throat goes tight.

“Okay,” he says. Did he say that? He’s not sure. If he did, he hadn’t really meant to, the word slipping out unintentionally as he’d opened his mouth to try and clear his throat. He thinks he might be having an out-of-body experience, but then Yukhei squeezes his knee and he comes back to himself.

_You okay?_ Yukhei mouths.

Sicheng nods. He wants to smooth his thumb over the crease between Yukhei’s brow, but he’s messed up enough for one day, and so he keeps his hand firmly on his lap, trying to focus instead on his mother’s excited rambling.

He realises he should probably cut the conversation when she starts asking him about Yukhei’s food preferences, though. “Hey, mom?” he interrupts. “Can we talk about this another time? I’m really tired right now.”

It’s not even a lie, really. Even if he hadn’t been physically tired from being out almost the entire day, the thought of the mess he’s gotten himself— _and Yukhei_ , his mind unhelpfully adds—has him exhausted already. If he’s lucky, he’ll manage to sleep for two weeks straight and miss Thanksgiving entirely. 

His mom, thankfully, lets him go without much fuss. He could’ve done without the final ramble on how excited she is to finally meet Yukhei properly, but she doesn’t prolong his misery at least, ending the call after one last _I love you_. It’s only after he hangs up does Yukhei finally remove his hand, the loss of contact reminding him that he should probably break the bad news to his roommate.

“So,” he starts, all feigned nonchalance as he plugs his phone in to charge while pretending he’s not avoiding Yukhei’s gaze. “Mom wants to know if you have any food allergies.” 

Wait, hang on. Context, he needs to give context. “Thanksgiving is next week,” he adds, praying that Yukhei will understand what he’s getting at without him needing to actually say it.

When he finally gathers the courage to look at Yukhei, the younger boy is already looking at him. Sicheng can tell from the way Yukhei’s lips are pressed together that he’s trying _very_ hard not to laugh. 

_Stop enjoying this so much_ , he thinks. 

Sicheng prides himself on having a quick wit and a sharp tongue. This would be the perfect moment for a clever one-liner, for him to turn the tables on Yukhei and make _him_ squirm instead. But when Sicheng opens his mouth, all he manages to say is—

“We usually have Peking duck instead of turkey.”

Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake.

Sicheng groans, falling face first onto his bed and burying his face in his pillow. It’s not enough to drown out the sound of Yukhei’s laughter. He hates that he still finds it endearing, even if it’s at his expense. The dip of his bed is the only warning he gets before there are hands on his shoulders, tugging at him until he’s laying on his back, staring up at Yukhei’s grinning face.

“You can tell your mom I’m good with whatever she makes,” Yukhei says, finally taking pity on him. “No allergies.”

Sicheng eyes him for a moment, wondering if Yukhei truly gets the gravity of the situation they’re in. “You do realise that she invited you to Thanksgiving as my boyfriend, right?” Just the thought of them having to pretend to be a couple makes heat flood his cheeks, the tips of his ears turning red.

“I know,” Yukhei answers easily, and Sicheng finds himself finally relaxing, sinking further into the slightly lumpy college-issued mattress as the tension from the disastrous conversation with his mother bleeds out of him. It’s like he’s always said—something about Yukhei makes him feel like he can take anything on.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into this.”

Yukhei’s thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t mind,” he says. “I know you hate it when your mom tries to play matchmaker, and if pretending to be your boyfriend means you get a break from that, then…” The furrow between Yukhei’s eyebrows reappears as he frowns, and Sicheng presses his hands firmly between his thighs and the mattress.

“You know I’d do pretty much anything for you, right?”

It’s the way he says it, all matter-of-fact, that makes Sicheng’s breath catch. This is dangerous territory, the conversation edging too close to a truth that Sicheng doesn’t have the courage to acknowledge just yet. “Yeah, well,” he says, pushing the words out past the lump in his throat. “You’ll take that back once my dad starts showing off his golf collection.”

Yukhei doesn’t take the bait.

“I doubt it,” he says, getting up before Sicheng can say anything else, which is just as well, because Sicheng has no idea how to respond to that anyway. “I’m going to go wash up first. We can figure out the specifics of this…” he gestures between the two of them, “…relationship some other day.”

Right, they’re going to need to come up with a backstory if they’re going to pull this off.His inner panic must bleed onto his expression, because Yukhei goes still, says quietly, “It’ll be okay, Sicheng,” before disappearing into the bathroom.

_Famous last words_ , Sicheng thinks.

*

“You confessed to me first,” Yukhei says later that night, apropos of nothing as they lie in their respective beds, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars they’d stuck on the ceiling one night while drunk.

Sicheng’s heart stops. He forces out a laugh, voice a little too high to be casual when he responds, “As if my mom would believe that.”

Yukhei hums thoughtfully at that. 

Silence settles. Sicheng holds his breath, counts to twenty-five in his head before he turns onto his side, gaze searching for Yukhei. He doesn’t expect Yukhei to already be looking at him, their eyes meeting immediately despite the darkness. Neither of them says anything for a long moment, and then—

“You’re right,” Yukhei says, and Sicheng’s too busy trying to remember _what_ exactly he’s right about that he almost misses what Yukhei says next. “I’d make the first move.”

It sounds like a challenge, or a promise. Yukhei is still watching him, the room quiet save for their breathing and the too-loud staccato of Sicheng’s heart.

Sicheng looks away first.

*

They flesh out the rest of their non-existent romance in bits and pieces over the next week, making sure to cover all the questions Sicheng’s mother is most likely to ask—when did they get together, how did that happen, who made the first move. Lately, Yukhei’s taken to asking Sicheng about increasingly insignificant details though. 

Like right now, for example.

“Where did we _what_ now?” Sicheng asks, shooting the girl sitting at the table to his right a dirty look when she has the audacity to shush him. He’d heard what Yukhei had said, of course, but there’s no way he’d heard correctly. 

No fucking way.

Yukhei rolls his eyes. “Where did we have our first kiss?” he repeats.

Yes fucking way, apparently.

“Yeah, I don’t think my mom’s going to be asking us about that,” Sicheng says. “Even if she did, I’m not sure I’d want to tell her.”

Pushing his books aside, Yukhei drapes himself over the table, looking up at Sicheng with those damned puppy eyes of his. “Sicheng _-ge_ ,” he whines, and Sicheng’s torn between giving in and throwing his pen at Yukhei for playing dirty—he _knows_ Sicheng has a soft spot for being called _ge_. “It’s _important_. I need to know these things if I’m going to be a convincing boyfriend.”

“I’m breaking up with you,” Sicheng returns flatly.

Yukhei’s undeterred. “Break up with me after Thanksgiving,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Now quit stalling and tell me how our first kiss went, c’mon.”

Sicheng thinks of last night, of Yukhei getting back to their room after a particularly gruelling practice session. His smile had been tired around the edges, but his eyes were bright as always when they landed on Sicheng, limbs warm and heavy as they wrapped around Sicheng in greeting. It must have been a bad day, because Yukhei had pressed his face into the curve of Sicheng’s neck, the way he always does when he’s seeking comfort, and Sicheng had given it to him willingly, reaching up to thread his fingers through Yukhei’s shower-damp hair.

_Thank you_ , Yukhei had whispered into his skin eventually, and Sicheng had wondered if the younger boy had felt the way Sicheng’s pulse jumped against his lips. If he had, he hadn’t called Sicheng out on it.

It’s easy to let his imagination take over, to entertain the idea of a version of reality where Yukhei notices the way Sicheng’s heart races in his presence, where Sicheng has the courage to chase after Yukhei’s warmth when he pulls away, to press their mouths together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

But he can’t say that—not to anyone, and most definitely not to Yukhei, not without feeling like he’s giving too much away.

In this reality, Dong Sicheng is something of a coward.

“Maybe after one of your games or something,” he says, pointedly keeping his gaze trained on his notebook. “Very teen romance cliché—my mom would love that.”

“Thought we weren’t telling your mom about our first kiss,” Yukhei points out. Sicheng glances at him and regrets it immediately; Yukhei’s gaze is searching, no trace of the light-heartedness from before, and even though it’s not really a question that has a right answer, he can’t help but feel like he’d given the wrong one anyway.

Sicheng opens his mouth to retort, but finds that he has none. He returns Yukhei’s gaze a little helplessly, until Yukhei takes pity on him, his expression softening.

“What kind of first kiss do _you_ want?” Yukhei asks, much gentler this time, and Sicheng thinks he might cry.

“I don’t know,” he says. He’s never really lied to Yukhei before, but then again, he’s never really lied to his mother either, and yet here they are. There’s a first time for everything, he supposes. “I’ve never thought about it.”

Sicheng pretends he doesn’t see the way Yukhei’s shoulders slump in disappointment, or notice the hollow edge to his laughter. “I guess it’s not that important after all,” Yukhei concedes. “Forget I even asked. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

There are a lot of things Sicheng could say in response to that— _I didn’t mean it_ , or _it does matter_ , or _the only thing that doesn’t matter is where or when the kiss happens as long as it’s you_ —but he doesn’t say anything at all, only nudges Yukhei’s books back towards him. “Finish your readings,” he says. “I want to grab dinner before the dining hall getstoo crowded.”

Yukhei nods, and that’s that.

*

It’s not that Sicheng doesn’t notice the way Yukhei looks at him sometimes, it’s just that he refuses to let himself read more into it than is actually there. Sure, Yukhei might have a tendency to get all doe-eyed around Sicheng, lips curling faintly despite his efforts to suppress the smile, but it’s _Yukhei_ —he gets that look when he remembers it’s chicken tender night at the dining hall too, and also when he stops to pet the stray cat that likes to roam around the hallways of their dorm.

Once, Sicheng had even seen him giving that look to a complete _stranger_ just because they’d given him their extra strawberry ice cream cone.

The point is, that’s just the kind of person that Yukhei is, boundless affection given freely to anyone lucky enough to be caught in his light. It’s what Sicheng loves the most about him—and also what he hates the most. Yukhei may look at Sicheng like he’d hung the stars in the sky, but it doesn’t mean anything; he’s reminded of that every time he sees Yukhei with any of his other friends, the warm smiles and easy touches that Sicheng is usually on the receiving end of suddenly directed at other people.

“Sicheng?” Yukhei’s voice draws him out of his thoughts, and he’s suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Yukhei’s fingers are wrapped securely around his forearm. “You okay? I can talk to your mom if you’re not up for it, tell her I can’t make it after all.”

Sicheng reaches up to close the boot of their rental car, dislodging Yukhei’s grip on him. Yukhei doesn’t reach for him again, and Sicheng’s somehow both relieved and disappointed. “I’m fine,” he assures, walking around to the driver’s seat.

Yukhei mirrors his movements, getting into the passenger seat at the same time Sicheng slides into the driver’s seat. Sicheng glances over at him while buckling his seatbelt, and it’s clear from the way Yukhei’s chewing on his lower lip that he doesn’t buy Sicheng’s assurance at all.

“Seriously,” he insists, and when that only makes Yukhei bite down on his lip _harder_ , Sicheng deflects: “My mom’s been texting me about you non-stop, she might actually turn me away if I dare to show up without you.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of Yukhei at least, and he finally relaxes into his own seat, buckling himself in as Sicheng pulls out of their dorm parking lot. He digs around the centre console until he finds the aux cord, plugging his phone in and pressing shuffle on the playlist they’d curated together over the past week. 

Sicheng doesn’t actually hate Yukhei’s taste in music as much as he pretends to, but the handful of songs that he’s added to his Spotify playlist are guilty pleasures, and he has no desire to encourage Yukhei’s habit of blasting shitty pop songs. Even now, Sicheng has to resist the urge to hum along. Yukhei has no such reservations though, drumming his fingers across the dashboard as he sings every line.

The energy doesn’t last though; less than an hour on the road and Yukhei’s solo jam session is interrupted by a loud yawn. He’d pulled an all-nighter to meet a deadline for the last of his assignments due that week, and Sicheng’s honestly kind of surprised he’s lasted this long before getting tired.

“You should take a nap,” Sicheng tells him.

Yukhei shakes his head even as he stifles another yawn. “It’s fine,” he says, ever the stubborn asshole.

“Wasn’t really a suggestion,” Sicheng responds. “We’ve still got another three hours to go, and you’re going to want to be at 70% mental capacity _at least_ when you meet my family.”

_Oh god, Yukhei’s going to meet his family._

He has no doubts whatsoever that they’re going to love Yukhei, which is exactly what terrifies him. Sicheng wouldn’t be surprised if his mother has already started on a vision board for their wedding, and he’s dreading the day he’ll have to tell her that they’ve broken up. Of course, the simple solution to his problem would be to never break up with Yukhei, but it’s not like Sicheng can ask Yukhei to pretend to be his boyfriend forever.

Not that Sicheng would want that anyway.

Yukhei leans his head back against the headrest, his eyes falling shut. It’s only the fear of crashing that keeps Sicheng from looking over at the boy in his passenger seat, but the exposed column of Yukhei’s throat manages to taunt him even in his peripheral vision. Sicheng’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, the soft creak of the leather impossibly loud to his own ears, but Yukhei doesn’t react.

“Just a quick nap,” Yukhei mumbles, already half-asleep.

He ends up sleeping most of the drive, only starting to stir when they’re a mile off from their exit. Yukhei reaches for his phone—no longer playing music and plugged into the car to charge—and jolts upright when he sees the time. “You didn’t wake me,” he says, the bite of the accusation softened by the way it tapers off into a yawn.

“Didn’t see the point,” Sicheng answers. “You looked like you needed the sleep.”

“I wanted to keep you company,” Yukhei whines. He stretches in his seat, cursing softly under his breath when overestimates the height of the car and knocks his hands against the roof. Sicheng bites back a smile.

“You do realise that I usually make this drive alone, right?” Sicheng points out, determinedly ignoring the way his heart does a traitorous little flip at Yukhei’s thoughtfulness. “Besides, it was nice having some peace and quiet for a change.”

Yukhei sputters indignantly at that, but any retorts he might have had are drowned out by the sound of Sicheng’s laughter. 

When his laughter eventually dies down, Sicheng _feels_ more than he sees Yukhei watching him. Sure enough, when he glances over, Yukhei is looking right back at him, but instead of the wide-eyed starstruck look that he’s gotten somewhat used to being subjected to, Yukhei’s expression is much softer this time. The corners of his lips are only faintly curled upwards, and something about the quiet affection in his eyes makes it hard for Sicheng to look at Yukhei without heat immediately flooding his cheeks. 

“What?” Sicheng bites out, self-conscious.

Yukhei’s barely-there smile widens slightly. “Nothing,” he shakes his head, turning his attention back towards the front.

It’s clearly not nothing, but Sicheng doesn’t press the matter. The rest of the drive passes in relative silence, Sicheng pointing out certain landmarks as they approach his childhood home— _that’s the high school I went to_ , and _that’s where I went for my first dance class,_ and even _that’s where I had my first kiss_.

“You had your first kiss at the bus stop?”

Sicheng takes advantage of the red light to reach over and smack Yukhei on the shoulder. “You don’t have to sound so judgemental,” he grumbles.

“Sorry,” Yukhei responds, sounding anything but. Sicheng lets it slide. “Who was the lucky recipient?”

“A friend of mine in high school,” he answers, not quite sure why he’s being so candid with the information, wonders how come it’s easier to be forthcoming when he doesn’t have to look at Yukhei. “We were working on a project at my place and I walked him to the bus stop after we were done.”

“And he just kissed you?” 

There’s an edge of _something_ in Yukhei’s voice, a little sharper than curiosity, and Sicheng wonders just how sharp it can get. “Yeah,” he responds, and then pauses, pretending to think. “Well, he asked if he could kiss me goodbye first, said he’d been wanting to do it for a long time. I told him I’d been waiting for him to ask.”

Yukhei doesn’t say anything in response to that. The light turns green, and Sicheng is grateful to have an excuse to turn his attention away from the boy next to him. It’s only when they turn onto Sicheng’s street does Yukhei speak again, asking, “Are you still friends with him?”

“No,” Sicheng answers easily. He could leave it at that, but it’s suddenly imperative that Yukhei understands that whatever he had with his friend is a thing of the past. 

“We fooled around for a while. I, uh, I even slept with him.” The memory of it burns, and Sicheng has to consciously loosen his grip on the steering wheel. “I don’t know if we went too far too fast and he freaked out, or if he lost interest because he’d gotten what he’d wanted from me, but he kind of just… ghosted. But then again, it’s not like I tried all that hard to stop him from leaving either.”

A part of him had expected Yukhei to get angry—Sicheng is well-aware of Yukhei’s protectiveness over him, and it’s no secret that the younger boy has a quick temper—and there _is_ a hint of anger in Yukhei’s expression when he glances over, but it’s overshadowed by concern. “It’s not your fault,” he says firmly, as if Sicheng will believe him if he says it with enough conviction. “You can’t make someone stay if they don’t want to.”

Sicheng hums in response, feeling Yukhei’s gaze on him the entire time as he finally pulls into his parents’ driveway. He unbuckles his seatbelt and is about to get out of the car when Yukhei grabs his arm, his hold loose enough to shake off— _you can’t make someone stay if they don’t want to—_ but Sicheng doesn’t; he stays.

“He’s an idiot for letting you go,” Yukhei says, so quiet that Sicheng has to strain to hear him. And then even quieter, “I wouldn’t have.”

“You—” Sicheng starts to say, but then he’s distracted by the front door opening, his mother stepping out onto the porch to wave at them. “You’re already getting into character, huh?” There’s a plea in there somewhere, and his heart is in his throat, the beat of it echoing loudly in his head as he prays that Yukhei will play along.

“Of course,” Yukhei says, and only when he lets go of Sicheng’s arm does Sicheng remember to breathe again. “Come on, let’s not keep your mom waiting.”

Sicheng’s mother pulls both of them into a hug once they reach her, complaining good-naturedly about how tall the both of them are— _and this one is so skinny too_ , she adds, squeezing Sicheng’s shoulders as she asks if he eats enough.

“Hi mom,” Sicheng laughs, letting himself be fussed over.

“Hi, auntie,” Yukhei echoes.

They’re shepherded into the house after another round of hugs, and Yukhei’s attention immediately turns to the photos that line the wall of the stairway, cooing at the countless snapshots of Sicheng’s childhood on display. He’s particularly amused by a photo of Sicheng mid-aerial; it’s one of the more recent photos, from his freshman year of university, and the quiet _wow_ that Yukhei breathes out as he leans in closer to get a better look makes Sicheng blush.

“Not like you’ve never been to my shows,” Sicheng mutters as he tugs Yukhei away from the photo and up the stairs, ignoring the faint twinge of guilt that blooms when his mother shoots him an approving look while Yukhei is distracted.

To Sicheng’s surprise, his mom leads them to his childhood bedroom instead of the guest room. “Your sister and Matt will be taking the guest room when they get here tomorrow morning,” his mom explains, patting his shoulder lightly in consolation. “Leo's going to stay in your sister’s room.”

It’s been a while since Sicheng has slept in his old bedroom—he’d spent the night in the guest room the past few times he’s been back to visit, mostly because it has a bigger bed. He eyes the twin-sized bed that he’d outgrown when he hit his growth spurt in high school, wondering how in the hell his mother expects both him and Yukhei to fit. 

Yukhei seems to sense his growing panic, and his large hand slides across the small of Sicheng’s back, curling around his hip and squeezing lightly in unspoken reassurance. The touch is as electrifying as it is grounding, his worries about the room arrangements settling and replaced with an entirely different kind of nervousness.

“Thanks for inviting me, auntie,” Yukhei says with a bright smile. “And for letting me stay the night. I could’ve just booked a hotel room nearby too, really.”

“As if I’d let you do that,” Sicheng’s mother waves his gratitude off before turning back towards her son. “Your dad and I are going out for dinner tonight, do you two want to join us or do you already have plans?”

Sicheng shakes his head. “I was thinking of taking him to Auntie Lam’s,” he says.

Yukhei raises his eyebrows at that, curious. “What’s at Auntie Lam’s?” he asks, and then a beat later, “Wait, who’s Auntie Lam?”

Sicheng catches his mom’s eye, and they share a smile that makes Yukhei pout. “You’ll find out,” Sicheng says, rubbing a hand over Yukhei’s arm. “I think you’ll like her.”

*

Auntie Lam, who isn’t actually Sicheng’s aunt, is the owner of a small hotpot restaurant not far from where they live. When he was younger, his parents would bring him and his sister to have hotpot on special occasions—including scoring straight As, which Sicheng suspects had just been a convenient excuse to have hotpot. Not having any children of her own, Auntie Lam had doted on Sicheng and his sister, and she’d ended up becoming family in all but blood, even sitting at their table during his sister’s wedding banquet.

It had been Auntie Lam who had introduced him to the world of Hong Kong cinema, often playing popular films from her youth on the old television set that sat in the corner of the small restaurant, next to the cash register. He’d spent a lot of time watching films with Auntie Lam on slow afternoons back when he worked there during the summers, and she often teased him about how his limited repertoire of Cantonese consists almost entirely of movie quotes.

Their shared love for old Hong Kong films is one of the things that he and Yukhei had bonded over when they’d first become roommates, so in a way, Sicheng has Auntie Lam to thank for bringing him and Yukhei together.

It’s still a little early for dinner, but it’s a nice day out so Sicheng bids his parents goodbye before he and Yukhei start walking over. They could drive over too, but they’re not in a rush, and the idea of stepping into Auntie Lam’s warm restaurant after walking in the cold sounds so much more appealing than driving over in a warm car.

Yukhei asks him where they’re heading to the entire way, but Sicheng refuses to answer, even when the younger boy whines and calls him _ge_. “You’ll see,” Sicheng says mysteriously instead, laughing at the way Yukhei immediately pouts at that.

Patience isn’t one of Yukhei’s strong suits, but he’s not left hanging for long, and they reach the restaurant in a little over twenty minutes. The place is mostly empty when they step in, but Sicheng knows it will be filled with people once the dinner rush hits. As Sicheng had expected, Yukhei’s attention is immediately drawn to the television set.

Auntie Lam looks up from the movie at the sound of the bell, grinning when she spots Sicheng. “ _Ah boy_ ,” she calls as she emerges from behind the counter. “Your mother called earlier and said you were coming over…” She pauses, glancing over at Yukhei before continuing, “…with a special someone.”

Sicheng is equal parts embarrassed and relieved—the thought of his mother and Auntie Lam discussing him and Yukhei is mortifying, but at least it saves him the trouble of having to introduce Yukhei as his boyfriend. Auntie Lam gives Yukhei another once-over before turning back to Sicheng with a teasing grin. 

“ _He’s a handsome one,_ ” she says in Cantonese; Sicheng’s still kind of terrible at speaking Cantonese, but he understands enough that Auntie Lam uses it when talking to him sometimes, usually when she wants to gossip about a customer without them knowing.

Except… “Auntie Lam, this is _Yukhei_ ,” he introduces, and he can see the moment Auntie Lam registers the fact that Yukhei’s name is Cantonese from the way her eyes widen slightly, and it makes Sicheng laugh. “I guess mom forgot to mention that when you spoke to her.”

“ _It’s nice to meet you, Auntie Lam_ ,” Yukhei greets in Cantonese. Sicheng likes the way the language sounds on Yukhei’s tongue; maybe it’s because he only ever uses Cantonese with his parents, but there’s always something child-like and almost shy about his tone of voice when he speaks it. “ _And thank you_.”

Auntie Lam recovers from her little slip-up easily though, ushering the both of them into the restaurant and towards Sicheng’s usual table, asking Yukhei questions the entire way. Had it not been for her friendly smile, it would have been easy to misinterpret her genuine curiosity as an interrogation. 

Yukhei’s unfazed though, answering her questions with a smile of his own, and the sight of the two of them getting along fills Sicheng with a warmth that has nothing to do with the boiling pot of soup one of the waiters just placed on their table.

*

Mid-dinner, Sicheng catches Auntie Lam’s gaze just as Yukhei places yet another piece of cooked meat into Sicheng’s bowl. He quickly looks away, almost jumping when he ends up meeting Yukhei’s eye instead.

“Eat more,” Yukhei says, as if Sicheng hasn’t already eaten a good three-quarters of what they ordered because Yukhei won’t stop putting food in his bowl. “Your mom’s right, you’re too skinny.”

“I am not,” he retorts, picking up the meat with his chopsticks and placing it in Yukhei’s bowl instead of his own mouth. “ _You_ eat more, or else you’re just going to get hungry again in about an hour.”

Yukhei pulls a face, but he doesn’t dispute Sicheng’s statement, and doesn’t protest when Sicheng starts piling the cooked food into his bowl. Even without looking up from the soup, Sicheng can feel Auntie Lam watching them, and when he finally dares to peek at her, she’s smiling.

Later, when they're paying for their food, Sicheng will pretend not to hear Auntie Lam when she leans in towards Yukhei to whisper, _thank you for taking care of our Sicheng_. He picks up a mint from the glass bowl on the counter, tearing the wrapper open and popping it into his mouth as he pretends not to hear Yukhei’s response as well.

_We take care of each other_.

*

Sicheng stands in the middle of his childhood bedroom in his pyjamas, staring at his bed as if they hold the secrets to the universe. He has no use for the answers to all the questions in the world though, only needing the answer to one: how the _fuck_ are he and Yukhei going to fit in the sad twin-bed that sits in the corner of the room. 

He really needs to figure out the sleeping arrangements before Yukhei’s done with his shower though, and so he makes a quick decision, grabbing a pillow off the bed and an extra comforter from his closet before dumping them on the floor. His makeshift bed is coming together nicely when Yukhei returns, the younger boy immediately frowning.

“What are you doing?” he asks, as if it’s not obvious at all.

Sicheng resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Making a bed for myself,” he answers. “You can have the actual bed.”

Predictably, Yukhei protests. “I am _not_ making you sleep on the floor in your own home,” Yukhei argues. It’s sweet, really, how thoughtful he is, and normally Sicheng has a hard time saying no to Yukhei, but when the alternative is letting Yukhei sleep on the floor instead, Sicheng is determined not to give in.

“And _I’m_ not letting my _guest_ sleep on the floor,” Sicheng retorts, still half-crouched on the floor and glaring up at Yukhei. “So you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Yukhei leans down to pick up the comforter and pillow, tossing them back onto the bed and ignoring Sicheng’s indignant yelp. “We can both sleep on the bed,” Yukhei says, and the whine that had been about to escape Sicheng’s throat turns into laughter instead.

“Yukhei, have you seen the bed? It can barely fit one of us.” To illustrate his point, Sicheng flops onto the bed, wiggling his feet where they hang off of the end despite him lying his head right at the top of the mattress. “How are both of us going to fit?”

Instead of responding, Yukhei joins Sicheng on the bed. Sicheng freezes as Yukhei crawls over him to get to the wall, trying not to let his mind dwell on the way Yukhei had covered Sicheng’s entire body with his own for a split-second, or on the whiff of his own body wash and shampoo that he’d gotten from Yukhei. 

The warmth that had enveloped him earlier suddenly turns into a furnace at his side as Yukhei settles between him and the wall, and Sicheng swallows the whine of protest that tries to claw its way up his throat. “Turn onto your side,” Yukhei murmurs, a hand settling on Sicheng’s hip as he nudges him to move. 

Sicheng does as he’s told, heart lodged somewhere in his throat as Yukhei tugs him backwards until they’re pressed against each other, so close that Sicheng can feel the rise and fall of Yukhei’s chest as he breathes. He’s hyperaware of Yukhei’s hand sliding along his front to curl around the hip that’s pressed onto the mattress, holding him securely in place.

Truth be told, it’s not the most comfortable of positions. His inability to relax with Yukhei this close to him aside, both their legs are still hanging off the edge of the bed, and Sicheng is one half-turn away from tumbling off the bed entirely, but those all seem like inconsequential details in the moment. Right now, all Sicheng can focus on is Yukhei wrapped around him from behind, warm and solid and so, so _real_. 

Tomorrow, nothing Yukhei does will mean anything, but this closeness in a room with only the two of them and no audience to convince of their relationship— _this_ is real.

“See? We fit.” The remark is little more than a breath of warm air on the back of his neck, and Sicheng forgets how to breathe.

Desire carves itself a home in his ribs, foreign and uncomfortable. A pair of loving parents and an older sister who doted on him meant that Sicheng had never wanted for anything growing up, leaving him wholly unprepared to deal with the longing that blooms in his chest in Yukhei’s presence. He knows he should pull away, should put some distance between them before the walls he’s carefully constructed around his heart come crumbling down, but Sicheng can’t bring himself to, not now that he’s gotten a taste of the one thing he can’t have.

Sicheng has never been an impulsive person, never been able to do anything without mapping out every possibility, too afraid to move forward without a destination in mind. He’d thought he’d had it all planned out when he graduated high school—his major, his career, hell, he’s even thought about what pets he’d adopt when he gets a place of his own. Catching feelings for his college roommate hadn’t been in the equation at all; Yukhei is an unknown variable that he hadn’t considered, throwing him off balance in the best and the worst of ways. 

He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a precipice, one that he’s tried his best to ignore as he walks along the cliff’s edge, but the call of the void has never been stronger. Yukhei presses his face against the space between Sicheng’s shoulder blades—and Sicheng finally takes a leap. Even if there’s only heartbreak waiting for him at the bottom, as long as he closes his eyes during the fall, he can pretend he’s flying.

“We fit,” Sicheng agrees, fingers wrapping around Yukhei’s wrist and squeezing lightly. “Now get up, you’re getting my shirt all wet.”

Yukhei laughs, pinching Sicheng’s hip before he does as he’s told, pulling the towel that had been hanging around his neck over his head to towel his hair dry. Sicheng sits up as well, reaching into the bottom drawer of his bedside table and pulling out a hairdryer. “Come here,” he calls, settling on the edge of the bed as he plugs the hairdryer in.

It takes a moment for the command to register, but Yukhei’s lips immediately pull into a grin when it does, the tall boy happily moving to sit on the floor at Sicheng’s feet, back against the bed and shoulders carefully wedged between Sicheng’s knees. Sicheng pulls the towel away from Yukhei, tossing it into the laundry basket in the corner of his room before starting to blow-dry Yukhei’s hair.

“Your hair’s getting long,” Sicheng comments idly, even though he’s not sure Yukhei can hear him over the noise, fingers combing through the long strands. Yukhei doesn’t respond, but Sicheng doesn’t mind, focusing on the task at hand once again.

It’s strange how natural this feels, as if this is something they’ve done many times before, when the truth is that Sicheng had been half-expecting to be rejected. But then again, he can’t recall the last time Yukhei has said no to him—if ever, even. It’s that thoughtfulness, that willingness to go along with whatever makes him happy, that makes it so easy to fall for Yukhei. Sicheng knows he’s not the only one that feels this way about Yukhei—how can he be when Yukhei is this radiant, like sunshine on a cold winter day—and Sicheng is struck with a sudden selfish desire to keep Yukhei all to himself.

Yukhei’s hair is dry in less than five minutes, and it’s only when Sicheng switches it off that he realises that Yukhei has fallen asleep, his soft breathing in sleep becoming obvious in the suddenly quiet room. Sicheng bends over to place the hairdryer on his bedside table, careful not to dislodge the boy currently sleeping with his head on Sicheng’s thigh. Yukhei shifts the moment Sicheng’s hand leaves his hair, an unconscious whine of displeasure slipping past his lips.

Warmth blooms in Sicheng’s chest, spreading to his face and the tips of his ears. He should probably wake Yukhei, get him in bed so he can sleep properly, but he can’t bear to just yet. His hand finds his way back to Yukhei’s hair, unable to help the laughter that bubbles out of him at the way Yukhei nuzzles into his hand in his sleep.

_I am so fond of you_ , he thinks, _I wish I could stay in this moment forever._

He’s startled by the knock on his bedroom door, hastily recollecting himself in the second it takes for his door to open and his mother to poke her head in. Sicheng presses an index finger to his lips before his mother can say anything, her expression softening as she takes in the sight before her—Yukhei fast asleep with his head pillowed on Sicheng’s inner thigh, Sicheng with one hand in his hair.

“Goodnight,” his mother whispers.

“Goodnight,” he whispers back, Yukhei stirring at the sound of his voice despite how soft it is. Sicheng’s mother doesn’t linger, switching the light off before retreating back into the hallway and shutting the door behind her.

“I fell asleep?” Yukhei asks, the question muffled as he stifles a yawn behind his hand.

Sicheng returns the hairdryer to its rightful place in the drawer, mostly as an excuse to not have to look at the way Yukhei blinks up at him sleepily. “Yeah,” he answers quietly, fondness bleeding into his voice despite himself. “C’mon, get your ass up here.”

Yukhei doesn’t need to be told twice, immediately climbing back into bed and pulling Sicheng close. He knows that this is the only way they can share the small space, knows that it doesn’t mean anything more than that, but Sicheng can’t help the way his heart skips a beat, body tensing for a moment before he forces himself to relax again, afraid of giving his biggest secret away, leaning back against Yukhei’s chest.

As usual, Yukhei is asleep within moments of his head hitting the pillow. Sicheng had thought that having Yukhei this close to him would make it difficult to fall asleep, but Yukhei’s warmth and steady breathing lulls him to sleep not long after. In the split-second before sleep takes him, Sicheng thinks he feels the soft press of lips against the back of his neck, but his eyes flutter shut before he can process it.

That night, he dreams of warm hands and warm eyes and warm kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i wasn't planning to post this until i finished it completely (i'm only about halfway done rn, maybe?) but it was driving me crazy having a 20k draft that i couldn't share with anyone (thank you fei for letting me send you snippets now and then) and then my friend was like "why don't you just post it in parts?" and that galaxy-brained me, so here we are.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 2021!! i was hoping to have more of the third part written before posting this, but i had this written for ages now, and figured i'd left you guys hanging for long enough. hope it was worth the wait ;;;

When Sicheng blinks awake, he finds himself face to face with a broad chest. He jerks backwards on instinct, but doesn’t get far, an arm around his waist keeping him firmly in place. Unable to flee, Sicheng does the next best thing—he hides, burying his face in said broad chest, ignoring the way it vibrates as its owner laughs.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face!”

Sicheng groans. “Shut up,” he retorts, but it’s half-hearted, the jab softened by the way he noses at Yukhei’s collarbone. “Sue me for not being used to strange men hogging my bed.”

A large hand settles on the small of his back, the warmth of Yukhei’s palm felt even through the fabric of his shirt. “I hope you don’t cuddle up to every strange man you find in your bed,” Yukhei teases.

“Only you,” Sicheng teases back, the words coming easier when he doesn’t have to look at Yukhei’s face. “What time is it?”

The warmth on his back vanishes as Yukhei reaches for his phone on the bedside table, but it returns before Sicheng can mourn the loss. “A little past eight,” Yukhei answers. “You can sleep in a little longer if you want.”

As someone who is rarely out of bed before 10am if he can help it, the offer is tempting enough on its own, and the way Yukhei currently rubs circles in the space between his shoulder blades only makes the desire to give into the urge to go back to sleep even stronger. It’s not often that he gets a good night’s sleep, and despite the cramped space, Sicheng had slept soundly the entire night; he kind of wishes they could stay like this forever.

“We should probably get up,” Sicheng says in the end, although he makes no move to get out of bed. “I’ve been cursed with a family of early risers, if we get up too late then there won’t be any pancakes left for us.”

It’s only half a lie, really. While it’s true that his father has no qualms about finishing all the pancakes if he doesn’t get downstairs in time to eat them while they’re still hot, he’s pretty sure his mother will make sure to leave some for Yukhei at least.But now that the initial haze of early morning drowsiness has faded, Sicheng is suddenly hyperaware of how close he and Yukhei are, heat spreading from every point of contact between their bodies. 

Sicheng is pretty sure that if they stay like this any longer, he’s going to need a very cold shower—and he might not be able to look Yukhei in the eyes for the next week, which will surely put a dent in the ‘we’re happily dating’ image that they’re putting on for his parents. Luckily, Yukhei is too distracted by the mention of pancakes to notice the way Sicheng has gone stiff in his arms. 

Yukhei stretches, lifting his arms over his head, and Sicheng sits up the moment he’s released, turning his back to Yukhei to hide the pink that dusts his cheeks from sight. Despite it being Yukhei’s first time at his childhood home, he moves around Sicheng’s room as if he’s been here before, the pair of them navigating around each other with the ease of two people used to sharing a space as they each gather the items they need to get ready for the day.

By the time they make it to the bathroom, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the sink as they brush their cheeks, the heat has faded from Sicheng’s face; the environment may be new, but getting ready with Yukhei isn’t, and Sicheng draws comfort from the familiarity of their morning routine. Yukhei’s reflection makes eye contact with him, sticking his tongue out at Sicheng the moment he has Sicheng’s attention. A glob of toothpaste falls from Yukhei’s open mouth onto the collar of his own sleeping shirt, and Sicheng laughs so hard he sprays the mirror with droplets of toothpaste.

They pull themselves together eventually though, finishing washing up and getting changed without any further incidents. The entire first floor is filled with the aroma of fresh pancakes when they finally make it downstairs, Sicheng’s mother smiling at them over her shoulder from in front of the stove and his father greeting them without looking up from the newspaper he’s reading.

“Good morning!” Yukhei calls as soon as he sees them, nudging Sicheng towards the dining table where his father is before making his way to the kitchen. “Can I help with anything, auntie?”

“No, no,” Mrs Dong immediately says. “There’s not much batter left, you can just join Sicheng and his dad at the table.”

Despite her words, Mrs Dong doesn’t protest when Yukhei only smiles and takes the spatula from her. “I should’ve come down earlier to help out,” Yukhei says, flipping the pancake with ease. “I promise I’m much better at cooking than Sicheng is, you’ll still have a kitchen when I’m done.”

Mrs Dong laughs at that. “I’ll leave this to you then, Chef Wong,” she says, patting his shoulder lightly before leaving the rest of the pancakes in his hands.

Sicheng is momentarily surprised when he sees his mother making his way over—he can’t imagine what Yukhei might have said to convince her to let a guest cook breakfast—but then he catches the sparkle in her eyes as she beelines towards him, and he thinks he has an idea of what she’s thinking, if the uneasy feeling in his gut is anything to go by.

Sure enough, the first words that his mother says to him that morning are, “So. Yukhei.”

“Yukhei,” he repeats, pretending he doesn’t understand what his mother’s getting at.

Predictably, his mother doesn’t buy his act, rolling her eyes at him. “How long were you planning on keeping your relationship a secret from us?” And then a beat later, “You’re not ashamed of him, are you?”

“What? _No_ ,” Sicheng disputes immediately. He’s pretty sure he would be yelling about it from the rooftops if he was actually dating Yukhei—but of course he can’t tell his mother that, so he settles for a half-truth instead. “It’s just… you kept trying to set me up with all of these girls, and I didn’t know how to tell you that I would never like any of them. Because I’m… y’know, gay.”

That does the trick. His mother’s gaze softens immediately as she reaches out to take his hand. “Oh, baby…”

Embarrassingly, Sicheng feels his eyes grow hot as she squeezes his fingers, and he turns his hand in hers until he can grasp back. “It’s okay,” he reassures. “Really, I’m fine.”

“No, it’s not okay. Even if we never intended to, your dad and I made you feel like you couldn’t confide in us, and we’re sorry.” Sicheng’s father finally stops pretending he’s not eavesdropping on their conversation, putting the newspaper down and folding it before placing it aside. “Your mother’s right,” he agrees. “We let you down.”

Sicheng has always known how lucky he is to have parents like this, but he’s never felt as blessed as he does in that moment, hand clasped tightly in his mother’s, his father reaching a hand over to cover both of theirs. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself, comforted by the smell of pancakes wafting over from the kitchen. 

His heart clenches at the thought of Yukhei, and the knowledge of how seamlessly the younger boy fits into their lives is bittersweet. “I really like him, mom,” Sicheng confesses quietly as he exhales. “I like him so _much_.” His voice cracks on the last word, and he has to clench his jaw shut to keep the flood of emotions from spilling out. It’s the first time he’s ever admitted his feelings for Yukhei out loud, and it’s both terrifying and relieving all at once; speaking about it makes it real—he can’t take it back now that it’s out there. 

He’s not sure if he wants to, anyway.

Yukhei emerges from the kitchen, balancing an entire stack of pancakes in one hand, plates and cutlery in the other hand. Sicheng immediately gets up to help him, but Yukhei only smiles as he nudges him out of the way with his hip and sets his precious cargo down on the table. “Show off,” Sicheng mutters, settling back into his seat and pulling Yukhei to sit next to him.

The sombre mood that had settled over the dining table is lifted by Yukhei’s presence, Sicheng’s pretend-boyfriend lighting up the space with his sunny smile as he places pancakes onto Mr and Mrs Dong’s plates. He slides an arm across Sicheng’s shoulder, gently tugging him against his side and pressing a soft kiss against his temple. Sicheng knows the kiss is for his parents’ benefit—he doesn’t miss the way the corner of his mother’s lip curls faintly, although she thankfully chooses not to comment—but the reassuring hand on his shoulder isn’t.

They’ve never shied away from seeking comfort in each other; Yukhei may be a little more forward about it than he is, but he’s not going to reject Yukhei’s comfort when it’s offered to him so freely. He turns his head, pressing the tip of his nose against Yukhei’s skin and breathing in. Yukhei smells like his body wash, Sicheng notes vaguely. Something about Yukhei smelling like him makes a dangerous sort of longing curl in his gut, and Sicheng viciously tamps down the urge to wrap his arms around Yukhei’s neck and pull him even closer.

“Are you okay?” Yukhei asks softly, the question only meant for Sicheng to hear.

_Yes_ , he thinks, and then, _No_. How ironic it is, that the one person who makes him feel the safest, is also the very reason he feels like he’s in a constant state of falling, trapped forever in the moment of weightlessness between losing his footing and hitting the ground. “I am now,” Sicheng answers, willing himself to enjoy the moment while it lasts and stop worrying so much about the fallout when their charade inevitably ends.

Yukhei doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but thankfully, he doesn’t press the issue. Even putting aside the fact that Sicheng’s parents are _right_ there, it’s not something he wants to discuss with Yukhei to begin with anyway. Yukhei squeezes his shoulder lightly before pulling his arm back, the both of them tactfully pretending not to notice the way Sicheng’s parents quickly look away as if they hadn’t been watching them the entire time.

Soon enough, his parents’ attention is drawn away from him as Yukhei makes a big show of trying the pancakes and complimenting his mother. It makes her laugh, and she’s more than happy to agree when Yukhei asks if she can share the recipe with him—so that he can make them for Sicheng back at their dorm, of course, or so he claims; Sicheng suspects Yukhei will probably eat most of the pancakes he makes.

Sicheng can’t remember the last time he’d seen his mother laugh this much, and even though he hardly says anything during breakfast, the way Yukhei turns to him every so often, their knees brushing together occasionally under the table, makes him understand how his mother must feel. He thinks this might just be the happiest he’s ever been in his life, too.

It doesn’t occur to Sicheng until later—when he’s alone in the kitchen, elbows-deep in soap suds as he does the dishes—that Yukhei had noticed something had been up with him, even when he hadn’t said anything at all. Is he really that obvious? Or does Yukhei just know him that well? He’s not sure which is better, to be honest. Still, the spike of anxiety at the thought of Yukhei being aware of his more-than-friendly feelings is dulled by the rush of warmth, knowing that Yukhei cares about him as much as he does, so much so that he notices even the tiniest shifts in his mood.

Being known by someone like that is both terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and because there’s no one around to witness his moment of weakness, Sicheng doesn’t bother to bite back the smile that tugs at his lips. 

God, he really is fucked, isn’t he?

*

Sicheng’s sister makes it just in time for lunch, the entire house filled with the fragrance of freshly-cooked wontons when the family of three steps in. “ _We’re home_ ,” Sihui calls in Mandarin from the doorway. “ _Ma, it smells so good!_ ”

With his mother busy in the kitchen with Yukhei and his father in his study room, naturally, Sicheng is the one who goes out to greet her. Leo, his sister’s four-year-old, pounces on him the moment he appears, and whatever he’d been about to say turns into a grunt as he wraps his arms around his nephew.

“Hey, buddy,” he says while attempting to wrangle the squirming boy into staying still. “You’re getting a little too big to be jumping on people like this, don’t you think?”

“He only does it to you because you always catch him,” Sihui informs him with a laugh. “A couple of months back he caught Matt off-guard and ended up falling on his butt—never tried it with either of us ever again.” And then before Sicheng can even crack any jokes about it, “Don’t you _dare_ drop my son or there will be hell to pay.”

“Hell to pay! Hell to pay!” Leo repeats, bouncing up and down in Sicheng’s arms.

Matt takes their luggage from Sihui, absent-mindedly patting his son’s head. “What did I tell you, bud?”

Leo goes quiet, blinking up at his dad with wide, innocent eyes. “No repeating after mommy when she says bad words…”

“Mommy’s a bad influence,” Sicheng laughs, ignoring the way his sister sticks her tongue out at him behind Leo’s back. “You should be more like Uncle Winwin instead.”

“Winwin?” 

Sicheng turns at the sound of the familiar voice, surprised to find Yukhei behind him. The sound of his nickname coming from Yukhei’s lips makes his cheeks warm for some inexplicable reason, and in the split-second it takes for him to gather himself, Sihui has already inserted herself into the conversation.

“Sicheng’s nickname growing up was _Yunyun_ , but Leo couldn’t quite say it right when he was younger, kept calling him Uncle Winwin instead, and then it just stuck.” Sihui explains with a smile, although it’s hard to miss the way her gaze rakes over Yukhei, considering. “You must be Sicheng’s boyfriend.”

Matt looks between the three of them, and the wordlessly puts their luggage down to take Leo from Sicheng’s arms, excusing himself to go and get his son washed up before lunch. The word ‘ _boyfriend_ ’ is still looping in Sicheng’s head, but he tries his best to ignore it, knowing that he needs to keep his wits about him if he wants to keep his very protective older sister from eating Yukhei alive.

“Let’s head in,” Sicheng suggests, breaking up the tension before it can properly take root. “We can catch up in the living room.”

Sicheng reaches for the luggage that Matt had left behind, but Yukhei beats him to it, easily picking it up and away from Sicheng’s reach. “I’ll go place this by the stairs,” Yukhei says with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Sihui- _jie_. Sicheng speaks very fondly of you—he won’t admit it, but he misses you a lot.” Yukhei doesn’t flinch even when Sicheng swats at him for that comment, only smiling wider. “I’ll let the two of you catch up.”

Yukhei leaves with their luggage, and Sicheng makes his way to the living room with his sister, the two of them settling side-by-side on the couch. Sihui isn’t paying any attention to him though, looking thoughtfully at the entrance of their kitchen where Yukhei’s just disappeared into. The earlier cautiousness has faded a fair bit, and Sicheng can’t help the small burst of pride at how quickly Yukhei’s managed to win his sister over.

“He seems like a nice boy…” Sihui comments idly, dragging her gaze back over to her brother. Sicheng’s about to agree, but his words are bitten off by a yelp as Sihui slaps his shoulder. “I don’t see you for almost a year and you go and get yourself a boyfriend without telling me?” Sihui says before Sicheng can even ask why she’d hit him. “How long has this been a thing?”

“Not too long, really…” Sicheng answers, infinitely glad that Yukhei had made sure they had a solid cover story. “I had a couple of mid-terms back to back and I don’t know if it was because I wasn’t getting enough sleep, but I ended up coming down with a really bad cold and he took care of me despite having his own mid-terms to study for.”

This much is true, at least. Sicheng doesn’t get sick very often, but because it happens so rarely, it tends to hit him pretty hard when it does. Yukhei had proven to have the patience of a saint, juggling his studies and taking care of Sicheng, while also having to deal with Sicheng’s constant whining about how uncomfortable he was. He hadn’t complained once, not even when Sicheng had woken him up in the middle of the night because his blocked nose was keeping him from sleeping and he’d wanted company.

Sihui actually blinks in surprise at hearing that; she knows very well how much of a pain Sicheng is to deal with when he’s sick, and anyone who manages to put up with him when he gets like that has her respect. “So what, seeing you all whiny and snotty made him decide you were the one for him?”

This time it’s Sicheng who slaps Sihui’s shoulder. “Shut up,” he grumbles. “Anyway this was the week of my birthday, right, and I was bummed out because I was planning to have dinner with a couple of friends to celebrate but I had to cancel because I was, y’know, on my deathbed.” Sihui rolls her eyes at Sicheng’s dramatics, but doesn’t otherwise interrupt. 

“When we started rooming together last year, he missed my birthday because we weren’t that close yet and he’d promised to make up for it by being the first to wish me a happy birthday this year, but the night before my birthday he suddenly texted to say he was spending the night at his friend’s because they were still working on their project.” Despite knowing how the story ends, Sicheng can’t help the slight swell of dejection at the memory of being sick and lonely and finding out that the one person who brought him comfort wasn’t going to be around the entire night.

“Let me guess,” Sihui cuts in. “He made it back in time for your birthday?”

Sicheng nods, pretending not to see the way Sihui grins at the flush that spreads across his cheeks. “There was a knock on our door a little bit before midnight, and when I opened it… there he was, holding an entire birthday cake, candles and all.”

_Happy birthday, Sicheng-ge_ , Yukhei had said that night, those big doe eyes of his twinkling with happiness at the sight of the surprise on Sicheng’s face. _Did you really think I wouldn’t keep my promise?_

_Of course not_ , Sicheng had answered, even though he had been sulking in bed about Yukhei forgetting about his birthday just a few moments before. Yukhei had laughed, not holding it against him despite clearly seeing through his lie, holding the cake up towards him and reminding him to make a wish before he blew the candles out.

_I wish you’ll be in my life forever_ , Sicheng had thought to himself, hands clasped in front of his chest, the image of Yukhei’s handsome face illuminated by the flickering candle light clear in his mind even with his eyes closed. _Even if it’s just like this, even if we only ever stay friends, I’ll be happy as long as I have you_.

“Having cake while you’re sick sounds like a terrible idea.” Sihui’s voice draws Sicheng from the bittersweet memory and back to the present. 

He squashes the swell of yearning that fills his chest, hiding the sting of its knife’s edge behind a laugh. “Yeah, it tasted great when I ate it, but not so much when it was coming back up.” The first thing Sicheng had done when he’d woken up on the morning of his birthday was throw up onto the space between his and Yukhei’s beds. It had been a mortifying experience, to say the least, watching Yukhei clean up the mess he’d made.

“Don’t tell me he cleaned up your sick,” Sihui groaned, shooting Sicheng a dirty look when he only smiles guiltily in response, all sisterly affection gone and replaced by sympathy for Yukhei.

“I said to him, _I bet you’re regretting getting me that cake now_ , and he said…” Sicheng pauses, struggling to get the words past the lump in his throat. “He said he didn’t regret it at all, that it was worth it just to see how happy I was when I answered the door.”

The worst part about this entire charade is that none of what he’s said is a lie—everything had happened exactly the way he’d described, but the truth of what happened after is vastly different from the one he can practically see his sister conjuring in her mind after hearing his story. While she imagines this ending in a confession, the reality of it is that Sicheng had only called him an idiot—fondly, though—and then Yukhei had laughed as he’d rushed to get ready and make it to his morning class on time.

“ _Please_ tell me you didn’t kiss him before you brushed your teeth,” Sihui says, and Sicheng is honestly _this_ close to committing sororicide and smothering his sister with one of the couch cushions.

“Of course I didn’t!” Sicheng yells indignantly. _I haven’t kissed him at all_ , he adds quietly in his mind, but she can’t know that. Sihui opens her mouth to retort, but she’s cut off by their mother calling them for lunch, and Sicheng grins smugly at her, having gotten the last word in.

Sihui rolls her eyes and then heads for the dining table without waiting for him. Sicheng sticks his tongue out at her behind her back—she flips him off without even looking. This time, he accepts defeat.

*

There’s no time for rest, Mrs Dong starting to get ready for dinner once lunch is finished. Sihui stays behind to help, but the rest of them are shooed into the living room in the meantime, where Mr Dong immediately strikes up a conversation with his son-in-law, leaving Sicheng and Yukhei with the task of dealing with a hyperactive four-year-old.

Leo had been kind of wary of Yukhei during lunch, not used to the unfamiliar new person at his grandparents’ place. Even as the three of them work together to build a lego car, Leo makes sure to sit closer to Sicheng, only occasionally sneaking glances at Yukhei whenever he helps to find a piece.

“You don’t have to be scared of Uncle Yukhei,” Sicheng had leaned in to whisper when Leo stammers a quiet _thank you_ after Yukhei hands him a piece of lego.

“I’m not scared!” Leo retorts, and then looks away sheepishly when both his father and grandfather look over at the sound of his voice. “I’m not…” he insists, much quieter.

Sicheng is just about to reassure the boy that it’s okay even if he is, but he catches Leo sneaking yet another glance at Yukhei and only then does he notice that the tips of Leo’s ears are red. _You and me both, buddy_ , Sicheng thinks, faintly amused. He picks up one of the lego pieces, turning it around in his hand as he tries to think of a way to break the ice between his nephew and his pretend boyfriend.

“Leo, think fast!” Sicheng calls, tossing the lego piece that he’d been toying with into the air with a little too much force on purpose. Leo is so focused on trying to catch it that he doesn’t realise Yukhei is right behind him until he trips over Yukhei’s leg and tumbles right onto his lap.

Yukhei snatches the lego from the air easily, holding it out to the blushing boy in his lap. “I believe this is yours,” he says with a smile, and then to Sicheng, “Baby, your throwing arm really needs some work.”

“Thank you,” Leo mumbles, taking the lego from Yukhei. Sicheng doesn't say anything, only wordlessly stretching his leg out to kick Yukhei in the knee. Yukhei’s fingers wrap around his ankle before Sicheng can pull his leg away, grin widening at the way Sicheng tries feebly to struggle as Yukhei tugs him closer.

Leo takes after his mother, to whom Sicheng bears a striking resemblance to, making Leo look just like a mini version of his uncle—even more so with the both of them sporting almost identical blushes, spreading from the apples of their cheeks right up to the tips of their ears. Sicheng finally manages to free his leg, and he kicks Yukhei again for good measure before retreating to a safe distance away from Yukhei’s long arms.

Yukhei laughs at him, but doesn’t try to drag him back again, turning his attention to Leo instead. “Leo, right?” Yukhei says, smile widening when the young boy nods in response. “Did you know that it means ‘lion’ in Latin?”

Leo nods again, slightly more excitedly this time. “They’re my favourite animal!”

“Really?” Yukhei exclaims, laughing when Leo nods even harder. “Tell you a secret—they’re my favourite animal too.”

“No way!” Leo gasps in surprise, turning around in Yukhei’s lap to grin up at him. Kids are funny, Sicheng thinks, just a minute ago Leo had been too shy to even look Yukhei in the eye, but now that he’s found out that they share the same favourite animal, all his previous shyness has completely vanished.

“They are,” Yukhei insists, wrapping an arm around Leo to pull him into a more comfortable position. “I even have a tattoo of one.”

Leo blinks curiously at that. “What’s a tattoo?”

Yukhei’s head snaps towards Sicheng at the question, panic clear in his eyes as his gaze wanders towards Matt and Mr Dong. Sicheng only laughs, but it’s enough to calm Yukhei down, as if that’s all he needs to be reassured that he hadn’t just said anything taboo.

“You know how mommy pins all of your drawings to the fridge?” Matt answers, no hint of disapproval in his tone at the topic at all. “Some people like drawings so much that they get them permanently drawn on their bodies.”

“Can I get a tattoo?” Leo asks, and Matt leans over to pat his son on the head. “Maybe when you’re older,” he says. “Only big boys and big girls can get tattoos.”

Leo nods seriously. “Then I’ll drink lots of milk so I can be as tall as Uncle Yukhei and then I can get a tattoo.” It makes all the grown ups laugh, and confusion flickers across Leo’s expression—he doesn’t think he’d said anything funny, after all—but it’s there and then it’s gone, replaced by a pleading grin as he turns to Yukhei again. “Can I see your tattoo?”

Yukhei has never been shy about his body—Sicheng thinks that might have something to do with the constant locker room showers during his adolescent years—and so it’s no surprise that he doesn’t even need to think twice about the request, leaning back to tug his shirt out from under Leo and pulling it up to reveal the muzzled lion that covers his left abdomen. 

Sicheng’s seen the tattoo plenty of times before, but he still can’t look away, his gaze tracing the clean lines of the tattooed lion, to the lines of Yukhei’s faintly defined abs, to the line underneath his hip that disappears into the waistband of his jeans. His eyes snap up when he realises where they’ve wondered to, but he only ends up making eye contact with Yukhei—whose lips are curled faintly into a smirk, as if he’s fully aware of what Sicheng had just been looking at.

Heat rises to Sicheng’s cheeks, although he resists the urge to look away, holding Yukhei’s gaze as if that will somehow prove that he has nothing to be guilty for; it only makes him blush harder. Thankfully, Leo pipes up then, asking Yukhei excitedly if he can touch the tattoo and drawing Yukhei’s attention away from Sicheng.

The defensive slant of Sicheng’s shoulders softens, as does his gaze as he watches Yukhei play with Leo, but he can’t help recalling the way Yukhei had looked at him earlier… and the way he hadn’t looked away. Sicheng doesn’t know what’s come over him, to be honest. He’s always had incredible self-discipline, and he’s been so careful the past year—careful not to let his touches linger, or to look into Yukhei’s eyes for too long. 

Now it feels like he can’t get enough. 

Pulling out a pack of washable markers from his little backpack, Leo hands them over to Yukhei and asks for a tattoo like his. Yukhei’s not the greatest at art, but he flips the corner of Leo’s shirt open anyway, looking like the perfect image of a serious artist—thick brows drawn together, marker cap clasped between his teeth—as he draws a cute little cartoon lion on the boy’s tummy.

Leo jumps up the moment Yukhei is done, proudly showing off his brand new ‘tattoo’ to his father and grandfather, before asking if they would like any as well. Naturally, the play along, and soon enough Yukhei’s forgotten by Leo in favour of doodling all over his father’s arm. Yukhei doesn’t seem to take offence at the abandonment though, shuffling closer to Sicheng as the both of them watch Leo fondly. Or at least—Sicheng thinks Yukhei is watching Leo too, until he turns and finds Yukhei looking right at him.

“Would you like one too?” Yukhei asks, eyes crinkling at the corners the way they do when he’s particularly happy.

Sicheng has tried so hard to bury his feelings, but the problem with burying seeds, is that given enough sunshine, they will grow. There are flowers in his chest now, aching to get closer to the boy who shines brighter than the sun. 

Maybe this little charade of theirs has made him braver, given him an excuse to wear his heart on his sleeve, because it’s not like Yukhei will think it’s real, anyway. The thought is as painful as it is comforting. Nothing that happens here in this house will mean anything once they leave, Sicheng knows, so can he really be blamed for wanting to make the most of it?

“I want a sunflower,” Sicheng says, reaching out to take Yukhei’s hand in his and placing it on his chest, right above his fluttering hummingbird-heart. “Right here.”

Yukhei glances over at something over his shoulder—at the other adults in the living room, probably, but Sicheng can’t tell if he’s making sure they’re watching or if they’re not. It doesn’t matter to him either way, because they had faded into the background the moment Yukhei’s palm had pressed flat against his ribs, and all he can focus on right now is the way Yukhei brushes his thumb against the fabric of Sicheng’s t-shirt.

There’s a slight pressure against Sicheng’s chest, an unspoken command, and he moves backwards until his back hits the foot of the couch, Yukhei half-crouched between his knees. Yukhei’s hand slides down his front, pausing at the hem of his shirt, as if he’s waiting for Sicheng to call his bluff—but Sicheng doesn’t. The fingertips that brush against his skin are warm, calloused from years of various sports, as Yukhei grasps the material firmly and tugs it upwards, not stopping even after his chest is exposed. Sicheng obediently lifts his arms up, letting Yukhei pull his shirt past his shoulders and over his head.

The shirt is dropped carelessly onto the carpet next to them, and Sicheng barely registers the fact that the air is cold before Yukhei’s hand is back, burning hot like a brand on his skin. Yukhei leans closer, and Sicheng’s vision is filled by broad shoulders, a solid barrier between him and the rest of the world. It’s odd, to say the least; it’s not the first time he’s been shirtless in front of Yukhei, but he feels more exposed now than ever, and yet—

He’s never felt more protected than he does now, his heart racing in excitement, not fear.

“Sunflower, you said?” Yukhei confirms, breath fanning over Sicheng’s collarbones.

Sicheng nods, not trusting his voice at the moment, and Yukhei gets right to work. He starts with yellow, drawing a sun right over Sicheng’s chest. All Sicheng can see is the top of Yukhei’s head, and it makes him think of last night, of brushing his fingers through those silky strands, and can’t stop himself from reaching out again. He doesn’t realise what he’s doing until his hand is already in Yukhei’s hair, but Yukhei doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even startle, only pushing back against Sicheng’s hand lightly as if in encouragement.

Yellow, orange, green bloom on his chest, and as Yukhei’s fingers brush over his own artwork, Sicheng can’t help but the smile that stretches across his lips at the thought of his flowers finally touching the sun.

Yukhei pulls back, keeping Sicheng in place with a hand on his waist while his other hand reaches into his own back pocket to retrieve his phone, not letting go until he’s done snapping a few photos of his finished work. Sicheng’s about to grab his shirt from the floor, but Yukhei beats him to it. For some reason, letting Yukhei help him wear his shirt makes him blush when letting him take it off hadn’t, but Yukhei doesn’t comment on his sudden shyness, although the twinkle in his eyes makes it clear that his reticence is for Sicheng’s sake, and not because he hasn’t noticed.

“There you go,” Yukhei says once Sicheng is clothed again, dragging his hand across Sicheng’s chest in an attempt to smooth the wrinkles out of his shirt. “I’ll send you the photos, but you have to promise not to show them to anyone else.”

“Embarrassed of your grade school art standards?” Sicheng teases, trying to edge the conversation back to familiar territory and find his footing now that the heat of the moment has passed.

Yukhei doesn’t take the bait though, shaking his head and saying seriously, “Because this is just for you and me.” And then before Sicheng can recover from that, adds, “I don’t want anyone else to see you like this.”

Sicheng doesn’t know what to say, can’t think past the rush of blood to his head. “…Who would I show it to anyway?” he mumbles eventually, but Yukhei’s gaze doesn’t waver, not until Sicheng finally gives in. “I promise, okay?” he says, turning his head away from Yukhei. “No one else will see me like—”

Suddenly remembering a fact he hadn’t had the mental capacity to care about before, Sicheng’s head snaps back in mortification, only to find an empty living room. He blinks a few times to confirm that his dad, brother-in-law, and nephew aren’t there before inhaling deeply, trying to force his heart rate back down to normal. “When did they…” he starts to ask but then stops, not sure if he wants to know.

“Before anything even happened,” Yukhei answers though, reaching up to flick a finger lightly against Sicheng’s forehead. “Relax, they didn’t see anything.”

Sicheng narrows his eyes at Yukhei, trying to discern whether he’s actually telling the truth or just saying what he knows Sicheng needs to hear. Yukhei, who hadn’t been offended about being ignored by a four-year-old, takes offence at Sicheng’s disbelief.

“Why would I lie to you?” And then almost as quickly as it had appeared, the offence melts into surprise, with a just a touch of amusement. “Wait, Sicheng. You thought your _dad_ was here and you still let me take your shirt off?”

Sicheng opens his mouth to defend himself—not that he has any idea what he can possibly say—but he’s interrupted by a polite cough, and it’s only then that he notices his sister a few steps away with a plate of fruits in her hands. Her eyebrows are about halfway to her hairline, and the fact that her expression is frozen somewhere between pride and horror leaves little doubt in Sicheng’s mind that she’d heard their conversation. Or she’d heard Yukhei’s last sentence, at the very least.

“I, uh… cut some oranges,” she says, deliberately cutting through the two of them on her way to place the fruit on the coffee table. “If you guys need anything else…” she pauses just long enough to look between Sicheng and Yukhei. “Mom and I are just a wall away.”

_So no more funny business_ , goes unsaid, but Sicheng receives the message loud and clear anyway.

Sicheng waits until his sister is out of sight before grabbing a cushion off the couch behind him and burying his face in it to muffle his scream. It’s not enough to drown out the sound of Yukhei’s laughter though, and eventually Sicheng gives up trying to suffocate himself in favour of hurling the cushion at Yukhei’s head instead. Yukhei, damn his athletic reflexes, catches the cushion long before it gets anywhere near his face, but at least he stops laughing, even though Sicheng’s not sure the smirk that he settles on instead is any better.

“Don’t start,” Sicheng warns, and Yukhei drops the cushion onto his lap to hold one hand up in surrender while using the other to mime zipping his lips shut. “She’s probably in the kitchen right now telling my mom about us getting handsy in here.”

“So what?” Yukhei says with a shrug.

He shuffles closer, and Sicheng shies away on instinct, only to find that he has nowhere to go when his back only hits the couch again. Yukhei pauses, an unreadable expression flickering across his face, and for the briefest of moments Sicheng thinks he might lean in and kiss him—but then Yukhei only lifts his hand to place the cushion back on the couch before leaning back and out of Sicheng’s personal space again.

Sicheng can’t tell if he’s more relieved or disappointed.

“It’s _embarrassing_ ,” Sicheng says, twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “And I know my sister, she’s probably going to make it sound like she caught us making out or something.”

Yukhei only shrugs again. The nonchalance with which Yukhei faces anything that life throws at him is usually a trait that Sicheng envies, but in the face of his own growing panic, Yukhei’s disaffectedness turns grating, and the accompanying remark— _Isn’t the whole point of this to convince your family that we’re dating anyway?_ —that is thrown out carelessly is the flint that sparks the fire.

The worst part is that Yukhei is right; but anger isn’t rational, and neither is shame. Sicheng is ashamed of a lot of things—the way he’d turned to putty at Yukhei’s slightest touch, the way he would have let Yukhei kiss him if he had wanted to, the way _Sicheng_ had wanted Yukhei to kiss him. But most of all, he’s ashamed of his own selfishness, letting Yukhei get dragged into this lie just because he had been too afraid to tell his mother that she’d been mistaken. 

_Liar_ , a little voice in his head that sounds like Yukhei but also not at all like him says, too cold and too sharp to be the boy that’s only ever been gentle with Sicheng. _You didn’t tell your mom the truth because you knew I would offer to help you play out this stupid lie._

“Shut _up_ ,” Sicheng hisses, and only realises too late that he’s said it out loud when Yukhei’s gaze snaps to him in surprise.

There’s no anger in those large brown eyes, only mild confusion, and Sicheng knows it’s not too late to take it back, but when he opens his mouth to try and pull the knife back, he finds himself only twisting it further. “Not everyone is like you, Yukhei,” Sicheng bites out, not quite registering what he’s saying until the words are out there, as if he’s not the one saying them. “Most of us actually give a shit about what other people think of us.”

Yukhei’s expression darkens. 

Sicheng knows Yukhei—that means knowing where all the cracks in his armour are, knowing just where to sink his teeth, knowing how to make him bleed with the least effort. The muscles in Yukhei’s jaw jump as he clenches his teeth, as if trying to hold back his own barbed words. Even wounded, Yukhei refuses to hurt him back. 

Yukhei is a much better person than Sicheng is, he’s always known this. 

Sicheng regrets it as soon as he says it, the anger that had gripped his insides fading away at the hurt on Yukhei’s face and guilt filling the spaces it leaves behind, but the damage is already done. He wants to apologise, but he’s afraid of what might come out if he opens his mouth again, so he bites down on his own tongue instead, seeking absolution in the flood of copper that fills his mouth.

“Sicheng?” Mrs Dong calls suddenly, cutting through the awkward tension that had settled between the pair of roommates. “We’re out of hoisin sauce! Can you run by the store and get some before dinner?”

There’s still hours to go before dinner, but Sicheng jumps at the excuse to get out of the house—or more accurately, get away from Yukhei—for a bit, immediately agreeing to go and asking if there’s anything else they’re short on that he might as well grab while he’s there. Mrs Dong emerges from the kitchen to write down a grocery list, and frowns slightly when Sicheng is the only one who gets up to leave.

“You’re not taking Yukhei with you?” Mrs Dong asks. “You can show him around the neighbourhood.”

Sicheng instinctively turns to Yukhei for help, and despite the fact that they’re still technically fighting, Yukhei steps in immediately. “He already kind of did on the drive over,” Yukhei says. 

Matt and Leo return from upstairs too, the four-year-old still slightly groggy from his afternoon nap. He lights up when he sees Yukhei though, all reservations from earlier gone as he runs straight over to sit on Yukhei’s lap. Yukhei hugs Leo to his chest, smiling up at Sicheng. “Think you’ll be okay without me, babe?”

“Huh?” Sicheng says, surprised at suddenly being addressed. He knows Yukhei is still upset, can tell from the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but he still can’t help the way his heart skips a beat at the term of endearment. “I don’t know,” he says, trying for joking but landing somewhere closer to awkwardly earnest instead. “But I’ll try my best.”

And then he turns around and flees before he can embarrass himself any further.

*

Sicheng makes it all the way to the grocery store before he realises that he’d forgotten to grab his wallet in his rush to leave. Digging around in his pockets, he manages to scrounge up an impressive amount of spare change—but it’s barely enough to cover the hoisin sauce that his mother had asked for, much less anything else on the list she’d given him.

He doesn’t really mind having to walk back to grab his wallet. The cool late-autumn air had cleared his head considerably, but now he’s faced with an entirely new conundrum: how is he going to face Yukhei? He should apologise, he knows that much, and he also knows that there’s a good chance of Yukhei letting it go, but an apology also requires an explanation, and Sicheng isn’t sure how to explain why he’d reacted the way he did without also coming clean about his feelings.

_Hey Yukhei, sorry I was a bitch earlier, it’s just that I think I might be in love with you but you don’t feel the same way about me, so I took it out on you, my bad._

Yeah, somehow Sicheng has a feeling that apology wouldn’t end very well. He’d consider it a miracle if Yukhei doesn’t immediately apply for a room transfer after that, and even though it’s probably kind of masochistic of Sicheng to want to share a room with his unrequited crush, being able to be close to Yukhei is the sweetest torture he’s ever experienced.

Well, at least now he has maybe an extra half an hour to workshop that apology.

He turns around, about to head back towards home when a voice from behind calls his name, holding him in place. The voice is familiar, but Sicheng can’t immediately place where he knows it from, until he spots the boy waving at him as he approaches.

“Sicheng, hey,” the boy greets breathlessly when he gets close enough.

It’s been years since Sicheng had last seen him, and the memory of the last time they’d been together—underneath the covers of Sicheng’s too-small bed, trying to be quiet as they feverishly explored each other’s bodies without waking his parents sleeping down the hallway—makes Sicheng blush. 

“Jaehyun,” Sicheng returns. He looks just as Sicheng remembers, and he finds himself saying exactly that, “You haven’t changed.”

Jaehyun laughs. “You’ve gotten taller,” he remarks, and then pauses, his expression turning serious. “I owe you an apology.”

“No, it’s okay,” Sicheng says immediately, not in the mood to dig up old wounds, but Jaehyun only shakes his head in response.

“It’s not okay,” he insists. “I shouldn’t have left you hanging like that.”

Sicheng means to say _it’s in the past_ , really, he does. But apparently there’s some sort of disconnect between his brain and his mouth today, because what comes out is, “It’s a bit too late to be regretting that now, isn’t it?”

An uncomfortable silence falls over them. Sicheng had thought he’d long gotten over what happened between them—and he _has_ , mostly—but he can’t deny that he feels a sliver of satisfaction at the way Jaehyun’s mouth parts in surprise. “I appreciate the sentiment,” he continues. “But you can keep your apology, I’ve moved on—”

“Sicheng,” another voice interrupts.

For a moment, Sicheng thinks he’s hearing things, because that sounds exactly like Yukhei—but then there’s a warm hand on his shoulder, the weight of it so familiar that he knows who it is behind him before he even turns. Sure enough, he glances over his shoulder and there Yukhei is, eyebrows drawn slightly together as he looks between Sicheng and Jaehyun.

“Hi,” Jaehyun says with a smile, entirely unfazed by the sudden appearance of a third person. “I’m—”

“What are you doing here?” Sicheng interrupts suddenly, drawing Yukhei’s attention back to himself.

“You left your wallet at home,” Yukhei says, pulling said wallet out from his back pocket and waving it at Sicheng. “Figured I’d save you the walk back and bring it to you. Didn’t think you were with a friend.”

“He’s not—” Sicheng starts and then stops, cutting himself off with a vaguely helpless sigh. “We just bumped into each other.”

It’s Jaehyun’s turn to look between him and Yukhei, and he seems to come to the right—or wrong?—conclusion about their relationship, because he doesn’t try to outstay his welcome, bidding Sicheng goodbye after one last _I’m glad you’re doing well_.

Yukhei watches him leave, not saying anything until he’s out of earshot. “Is that him?”

Sicheng considers playing dumb for a split-second, but then he catches sight of Yukhei’s expression—distant and troubled and just maybe a touch lost—and feels his heart ache. There are truths that he can’t bring himself to confide in Yukhei just yet, but he can at least try to be honest about other things. “Yeah,” he answers quietly. “He wanted to apologise for how he left things.”

“I see,” Yukhei says, and then drops the subject, heading into the grocery store. “You have the list your mom gave you?”

There’s a part of Sicheng that wants to hold Yukhei back—feels the need to make sure that Yukhei knows that he hadn’t interrupted anything, that nothing had happened before he’d come, and nothing would have happened even if he hadn’t showed up—but he ignores it, reminds himself that they’re not actually dating as he ducks his head and follows after Yukhei. He grabs a basket along the way that Yukhei takes from him automatically as he reaches into his pocket for the grocery list.

It’s not the first time they’ve gone for a grocery run together, and they navigate the aisles with ease despite Yukhei never having been there before. Still, despite the way they work together seamlessly to collect the various items on the list, an awkward kind of tension lingers between them. Yukhei does as he’s told whenever Sicheng tells him to grab something off the shelves, but doesn’t say anything the entire time besides the occasional _yes_ or _no_ when Sicheng holds out a vegetable or fruit for his appraisal.

It isn’t the silence itself that’s unsettling—as loud as Yukhei can be sometimes, Sicheng knows better than anyone else that he has his quiet moments too. They’ve spent many hours holed up in their room, each of them doing their own thing without minding the other, but enjoying the company and the assurance that they’re not alone nonetheless. Now, though, Yukhei isn’t just quiet. He’s… _blank_. 

Sicheng has never had trouble figuring out what’s going on in Yukhei’s mind before. Besides the fact that Yukhei tends to wear his heart on his sleeve, they’ve spent too much time together for him to not be able to recognise every little emotion that seeps into Yukhei’s expression or actions. And yet—he looks at Yukhei now, and it’s almost like he’s looking at a complete stranger. It scares him more than he’s willing to admit.

They’re just about to pass by the freezer section when Sicheng stops suddenly, rushing over to where the popsicles are. Yukhei watches him curiously as he digs through the selection of popsicles, hips braced against the edge as he sticks both arms elbow-deep into popsicles. He doesn’t even realise that his upper body is almost entirely in the freezer until he feels a warm hand on his shoulder, gently holding him in place and keeping him from falling in. Sicheng’s hand has gone numb from the cold by the time he finally finds what he’s looking for, but he doesn’t pay it any mind, grinning as he triumphantly holds up the strawberry popsicle that Yukhei loves.

Maybe it’s naive of him to think that a strawberry popsicle will fix things—it’s not like Yukhei is a child whose affection can be bought with sweet treats—but it’s the only thing he can think of right now, and he has to do _something_. Yukhei blinks, going slightly cross-eyed as he stares at the popsicle Sicheng waves at his face, and then finally, _finally_ , he smiles. Warmth floods Sicheng’s chest as he watches Yukhei’s lips slowly tug upwards, like a particularly beautiful sunrise, lighting him up from the inside out.

“It’s November,” Yukhei points out, any attempts to be stern dashed by the fondness in his eyes as he takes the popsicle from Sicheng, fingers brushing against his. “Your hands are all cold now.”

He drops the popsicle into the basket before reaching for Sicheng’s hands, wrapping it between both of his to try and warm them up. By the time Sicheng registers what Yukhei is doing, his hands are warm again—as well as his face. He’s expecting Yukhei to let go of his hands, but he only releases one, holding onto the other one even as they start walking towards the checkout counters, fingers tangled together.

Sicheng is dragged along in a daze, and Yukhei only lets go of his hand when he has to grab his wallet to pay. He barely has the time to be disappointed by the loss of contact before his hand is wrapped in Yukhei’s again, the younger boy singlehandedly carrying their groceries with his other hand and holding them out of reach when Sicheng tries to grab at them.

“I’ve got it,” Yukhei says. “Be good and don’t fuss.”

Sicheng’s pretty sure he’s heard his sister say almost the exact same thing to Leo before, and maybe he should feel a little offended that Yukhei’s talking to him like he’s a child, but oddly he doesn’t. There’s nothing patronising about the way Yukhei says it, and he knows it’s not because Yukhei doesn’t think he can handle a few bags of groceries. This is just how Yukhei is—always trying to take care of him, not because he thinks Sicheng can’t take care of himself, but because he _wants_ to.

The sunflower in his chest blooms a little bigger, and he lifts his free hand to his chest unconsciously, gently tracing his fingers over the sunflower that Yukhei had drawn. Yukhei catches the movement, gaze softening even as his grip on Sicheng’s hand tightens, and Sicheng squeezes their joined hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

Neither of them says anything else the entire walk back, but this time, Sicheng doesn’t mind the silence.

*

Sicheng’s parents hadn’t pried much into their relationship when they’d first arrived, but Sihui does not share their parents’ respect for his privacy, and Sicheng has a bad feeling the moment he catches his sister’s eye across the dinner table once they’ve all settled down to have dinner. Yukhei doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about the way Sihui eyes the both of them, turning the lazy Susan until the Peking duck is directly in front of Mr and Mrs Dong.

“ _Uncle, auntie, eat_ ,” he says in Mandarin.

Yukhei waits until all the other adults have taken a share of the food before turning the lazy Susan again until the duck is within reach. He picks a good slice of duck—all meat, no bones—and places it in Sicheng’s bowl before grabbing a bonier piece for himself. Sihui’s eyes almost visibly light up, having found an opening to start an interrogation—sorry, a _conversation_. 

“You don’t want to get a meaty piece for yourself too, Yukhei?” Sihui asks, all faux innocence. Sicheng would kick her under the table if he could reach her.

Yukhei smiles as he shakes his head. “I actually like the bony pieces,” he says, reaching for the food again to place a square of spring pancake into Sicheng’s bowl.

“That’s what parents say when they want to save the good stuff for their kids,” Mrs Dong laughs, picking up another slice of duck—without bones—and holds it out to Yukhei. “Here, have this.”

“I mean it though!” Yukhei insists, even though he politely holds his bowl out to accept the offered piece of meat. “My dad’s from Hong Kong, so I grew up eating chicken feet. Meat just doesn’t feel quite right to me without a mouthful of bones.”

“You speak Cantonese, then?” Sihui asks, and alarm bells start ringing in Sicheng’s head.

Yukhei nods before Sicheng can stop him, and Sihui grins, leaning in and dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper—but still loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. “ _Yunyun_ has always wanted a Cantonese-speaking boyfriend,” she says.

“Really?” Yukhei asks.

Sicheng groans and drops his head into his hands. Even without looking, he can practically see the teasing grin on Yukhei’s face, the edge of teasing clear in his voice. “I never said that,” he defends himself weakly.

“Not in so many words,” Sihui bites back, ruthless. She turns back to Yukhei. “He went through a phase in high school where he listened to nothing but Cantonese songs. I think he tried to get Auntie Lam to teach him some Cantonese too, but that didn’t work out very well.”

“ _I can speak Cantonese!_ ” Sicheng finally lifts his head to retort in Cantonese, although he deflates again when his sister shoots him a disbelieving look. “I can understand enough…” he pouts.

“Anyway,” Sihui continues, ignoring her pouting brother. “I’m not surprised he’s dating someone who speaks Cantonese.”

“It’s not like that’s the only reason I like Yukhei.” Sicheng tries valiantly to kick her, and poor Matt hisses in pain as Sicheng’s foot smashes into his knee. There’s an apology on the tip of Sicheng’s tongue already, but the words die at the slightly manic look in Sihui’s eyes, and he realises too late that he’s fallen right into her carefully-laid trap. 

Sihui places her chopsticks down against the edge of her bowl, steepling her fingers under her chin like the perfect image of a cartoon villain. Sicheng shoots his parents a look, the plea for help clear in his eyes, but both of them avoid his gaze. He hadn’t expected it to work anyway—no one’s ever been able to stop his sister whenever she puts her mind to something, and he doesn’t blame them for trying to avoid being caught in the crossfire.

“What _do_ you like about Yukhei?” 

And there it is: the million dollar question. Everyone turns to Sicheng—even _Leo_ —with curiosity written plainly on all their faces, and Sicheng takes a few seconds to shoot each of them a dirty look. “Yeah, Sicheng,” Yukhei grins. “What do you like about me?”

_Traitor_ , he mouths, attempting yet another covert kick. It connects this time, but Sicheng is the only one who winces, Yukhei entirely unfazed as he reaches under the table to swat Sicheng’s foot away like it’s a particularly pesky mosquito.

_Your smile_ , Sicheng thinks as Yukhei grins at him. _Your thoughtfulness. The way you believe in me. How safe you make me feel. Everything._

“Right now? Nothing,” Sicheng hisses, because he’s never been particularly good at being honest about his feelings.

Yukhei laughs, expertly avoiding the hand that swipes at his shoulder, fingers wrapping around Sicheng’s wrist to keep a second attempt at bay. Sicheng tries to wriggle his hand free, but Yukhei’s grip doesn’t loosen, only tightening as he holds Sicheng’s hand in place and ducks his head down to press a soft kiss against his palm. “You say the sweetest things, babe,” Yukhei teases.

This time, when Sicheng flexes his wrist, Yukhei releases him. It takes conscious effort not to lift his hand up to his own face and press his lips against the same patch of skin that Yukhei had, curling his hand into a fist instead to tuck the ghost of Yukhei’s kiss away safely underneath his fingers.

“You call that a kiss?” Sihui says, clicking her tongue in mock disappointment.

She doesn’t mean anything by that, and Sicheng knows that he should just laugh the comment off and move on from this topic before he and Yukhei get any more tangled up in the lies they’re spinning—but then his gaze catches on Yukhei’s mouth, his full lips glossy with grease from the duck he’s just eaten, and Sicheng is suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him proper.

There’s a part of him that’s aware that this is a terrible idea, but it’s drowned out by the desire—no, the _need_ to finally give into the gravitational pull that he’s been resisting for almost as long as he’s known Yukhei and press their lips together. All the dreams of kissing Yukhei that Sicheng has ever buried resurface now, taunting him. Sicheng finds himself leaning in—movement driven by instinct and not conscious thought—and in the split-second that the tips of their noses make contact, the world freezes, his one unconscious action branching out into infinite possibilities.

In one, he finds the courage to close the uncrossable distance between them and find out if Yukhei’s lips are as soft in real life as they are in his most intimate dreams. In another, he pulls back at the last moment, plays it off as a joke and goes on to pretend that it never happened. Sicheng’s not sure which would make him more of a coward — kissing Yukhei under false pretences, or not kissing him when the he’s been given the perfect, and possibly _only_ , opportunity to.

Time resumes, and neither of these possibilities comes true.

Instead, Yukhei is the one who tilts his head away at the last second, and Sicheng’s kiss finds home on the corner of Yukhei’s mouth instead. So close, and yet so far away. The silence seems to last for an eternity, and Sicheng’s chest goes tight with shame. He closes his eyes, but the panic he’d seen on Yukhei’s face is burned into his mind’s eye. 

Yukhei recovers before he does, laughing softly as he cups Sicheng’s face with a single hand and gently nudges him back towards his own seat. “There are children here,” Yukhei reminds quietly, gaze darting towards Leo. It’s the perfect excuse for the way he’d reacted, but Sicheng is not as easily fooled as the rest of his family. 

He sees the tight edge to Yukhei’s smile, sees the way Yukhei cracks his knuckles one-handed under the table—the biggest tell for when he’s troubled. His parents’ attention shifts to Leo instead, but Sicheng finds himself replaying the almost-kiss on loop in his mind. Shame turns to regret, and then to guilt, gnawing at his insides and eating him up from the inside out.

Sicheng keeps his head down after that, eating mouthful after mouthful even though the food had long become flavourless after he’d forcibly stolen a taste of Yukhei, just to have an excuse to not have to say anything. Yukhei, on the other hand, hardly touches his bowl, but he’s always been an expert at deflection, keeping Sicheng’s family from catching onto his sudden lack of appetite with a bright smile and nonstop conversation.

Sicheng notices, though.

The guilt swells, Sicheng hyperaware of the fact that Yukhei has barely paid any attention to him in the past twenty minutes. It’s funny, the way people don’t notice what they have until it’s gone; Sicheng has never really noticed how much Yukhei looks after him during meals until he sees the bottom of his bowl before the end of dinner and realises just how often he relies on Yukhei to make sure he has enough to eat. The realisation makes his stomach turn, and he places his chopsticks down, suddenly feeling like he might throw up if he takes another bite.

Sihui’s gaze is drawn to him by the action, and the look on his face must be something awful, because her eyebrows furrow in concern. She starts to ask what’s wrong, but is interrupted by Leo yawning, the young boy leaning sideways to bury his face in his mother’s chest, drowsy from a combination of the big meal and the fact that it’s close to his bedtime. Sicheng leans back against his seat in relief as Sihui’s focus is immediately drawn by her son, and he avoids her gaze for the rest of dinner.

Thankfully, Sicheng doesn’t have to stew in his own awkwardness for too long, Sihui eventually excusing herself to bring Leo to go wash up and put him to bed. Matt follows after his wife and son, and after seeing that neither Sicheng nor Yukhei are eating, Mrs Dong starts clearing the table. Sicheng helps her without being asked to, gathering the empty bowls of rice. Yukhei gets up to help as well, but Mrs Dong snatches the plates from the table before he can.

“If I keep letting you help you then you’re going to end up doing more chores in these few days than Sicheng has his entire life at this rate,” Mrs Dong says, throwing her son a dirty look.

“Hey! You make it sound like I never do anything around the house ever,” Sicheng cuts in indignantly, lips automatically pulling into a pout as he turns to Yukhei. “This is all your fault.”

It’s only after the words are out that he remembers that he and Yukhei are having an unspoken cold war of sorts, and he immediately looks away, embarrassed. Surprisingly, instead of the awkward silence he’d been expecting, Yukhei actually laughs. Sicheng is still too afraid to look up at him, but the laughter doesn’t sound forced, and the tightness in his chest finally eases up, even if only the slightest bit.

“My bad,” Yukhei says, and Sicheng wonders if he’s only imagining the touch of fondness intertwined with the resignation in his voice. “I’ll leave you to regain your mom’s favour then.”

Sicheng waits until he hears footsteps leading away to finally look up, watching Yukhei’s back as he heads out of the dining room and only looking away once he’s out of sight. “I’ll put the leftovers away and do the dishes,” Sicheng says as he gestures for his mother to place whatever she has in her hands down.

Mrs Dong hesitates. “I was only kidding about the chores thing earlier…”

“I know,” Sicheng answers, shooting his mom what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I want to help though, you’ve been on your feet all day. Let me do this for you, mom.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Mrs Dong nods and places the plates back down on the table. “I’ll leave you to it then,” she says, reaching over to pat his head the way she used to when he was younger, although now she has to stretch to reach.

His parents make to leave as well, and Sicheng thinks he’s in the clear until his mom suddenly stops right before they turn around the corner, glancing back at him. “I don’t know what the matter is…” she starts, biting down on her bottom lip lightly as if she’s not sure if she’s allowed to say this. “…but you should talk it out with Yukhei, whatever it is.”

And then she turns and walks away without waiting for a response, leaving Sicheng alone with his thoughts and wondering just when he’d become so easy to read.

*

By the time Sicheng returns to his room after cleaning up, Yukhei’s already done with his shower and browsing his phone in bed. He glances up when Sicheng enters, but doesn’t say anything. Sicheng considers saying something first, but the words stick in his throat, and eventually he doesn’t say anything either as he gathers his things to go wash up. 

He feels Yukhei’s gaze follow him as he moves around the room, and part of him hopes that Yukhei will call his name, or ask him to wait—something, _anything_ , to make him stay—but the only sound he hears is his bedroom door clicking shut behind him after he leaves. Sicheng knows he has no right to be disappointed when he’s the one who’d fucked up in the first place, but he feels his heart sink anyway.

The bathroom is colder than his room, and Sicheng shivers slightly as he tugs his shirt off without waiting for the heater to kick in. The bright yellow sunflowers stand out against his pale skin, and he can’t help himself from reaching up to trace the smudged edges with hesitant fingers. He meets his own gaze in the mirror when he finally looks up from his chest, and he almost flinches at the self-loathing in his own eyes, but he forces himself to maintain eye contact, to take in every detail, from the expanse of skin where the ghost of Yukhei’s touch still lingers, to the lips that Yukhei had turned away from.

_He loves me_ , Sicheng thinks as he stands in the shower, blunt nails scratching away at the sunflower petals that Yukhei had so carefully drawn, one after another, watching as the colours disappear down the drain. He scrubs and he scrubs and he scrubs, until the entire bathroom is filled with steam and there’s nothing left on his chest but a patch of red— _he loves me not_.

*

Yukhei is still awake when Sicheng makes it back to his bedroom, even though he’d spent almost half an hour in the shower. Truth be told, if their roles had been reversed, Sicheng knows he would have pretended to be asleep just to avoid the current awkwardness that envelopes them, but Yukhei has always been the braver of the two of them, refusing to back down from anything.

Except this time he doesn’t say anything, not looking up from his phone even when Sicheng sits on the edge of the bed to retrieve the hairdryer. The noise is a welcome relief from the awkward silence, loud enough to drown out even Sicheng’s own thoughts, but the white noise doesn’t last, and the quiet that settles once he switches the hairdryer off is louder than ever.

Sicheng doesn’t move from his spot, acutely aware of Yukhei lying on the bed behind him but not knowing how to break the tension. For a brief moment he considers sleeping on the floor, but he’s tired of trying to outrun his feelings. He takes a deep breath, smoothing his hands over his pyjama pants before he turns around.

“Yukhei—” he calls, hating the way his voice trembles. Yukhei still isn’t saying anything, but his gaze is patient, no trace of anger or judgement in those clear eyes of his, and it gives Sicheng the courage to clear his throat and throw himself into this difficult conversation the same way Yukhei would throw himself into a particularly difficult basketball game. “I’m sorry.”

He grabs a fistful of his comforter, then releases it and smooths it out, repeating the motion over and over again as he tries to find the right words. Yukhei doesn’t rush him, but after another minute of fidgeting, he reaches for Sicheng’s hand, fingers tangling together to hold him still. The forgiveness is unspoken, and Sicheng has half a mind to drop the subject entirely, not wanting a repeat of that afternoon, too afraid that he’ll say things he doesn’t mean again if he opens his mouth.

But Yukhei deserves better, and so he squeezes the large hand that covers his. “I didn’t mean it, what I said this afternoon,” he says. “I was just… embarrassed, I guess, and you just seemed so unaffected that it made me want to—”

_It made me want to make you feel as bad as I did._

“Anyway, I shouldn’t have said that, and I’m so, _so_ sorry that I did. You know, I actually really envy your confidence.” Sicheng laughs under his breath, gaze dropping to the space between them as he lifts his free hand to rub at his face in an attempt to hide his blush. “I don’t know what I was embarrassed about in the first place anyway,” he says, wrinkling his nose slightly.

“It’s okay,” Yukhei says, and then pauses to correct himself. “I mean, it’s not okay that you took your anger out on me, but I get it. I’ve lashed out at people too, it’d make me the world’s biggest hypocrite if I held this against you.”

He squeezes Sicheng's fingers lightly, and Sicheng squeezes back. There’s a beat of silence, and then— “I’m sorry about the kiss, too.”

Yukhei has never explicitly stated his sexual orientation, but he’s told Sicheng about the high school girlfriend he’d broken up with the summer before he’d started college, and he’s never expressed interest in any boys, even though Sicheng knows for a fact that more than a few have tried to ask him out. It’s understandable that Yukhei wouldn’t want to kiss him, even if it stings.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Sicheng says, the words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s weird, right? That I tried to kiss you in front of my entire family. I get why you might have been grossed out, I think I’d be too if I were you, so don’t feel bad about turning away. Imagine if we’d actually kissed, how awkward would that—”

_—have been._

The rest of his sentence is cut off by the gentlest of pressure against his lips, and by the time Sicheng registers what’s just happened, Yukhei has already pulled back. “You—” Sicheng starts, pressing the tips of his fingers to his mouth, trying to replicate the sensation of Yukhei’s lips against his, still half-wondering if he’d only imagined it.

“I don’t think kissing you is gross,” Yukhei says, almost sternly. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like I did.”

The apology comes out of nowhere, and Sicheng’s just barely managed to wrap his mind around the fact that _Yukhei kissed him_ and now he has to deal with Yukhei apologising for something that he really has no reason to apologise for. Something akin to hope threatens to take root, but Sicheng stamps it out before it has the chance to; he wouldn’t put it past Yukhei to kiss him just to prove a point, he shouldn’t assume that this means anything.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t savour the memory all the same, biting on his lower lip in an attempt to stop the grin he can feel threatening to bloom. He’d be lying if he says he doesn’t want more, that he doesn’t wish the kiss had lasted just that little bit longer, and Sicheng has the urge to close the distance between them and press their mouths together yet again, but he doesn’t. The memory of Yukhei turning away from him surfaces, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if it happened again.

He’s run out of bravery for the day—this much is enough, it has to be.

Sicheng is about to suggest that they go to sleep, but he’s interrupted by the sound of his stomach growling. The anxiety that had taken up residence in his gut since dinner dissipates, and hunger finally settles in. Yukhei doesn’t comment on the sound his stomach’s just let out, but the amused grin he sports makes it more than obvious that he hadn’t missed it.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry,” Yukhei says, voice dripping with mirth. “Are you up for a little late night snack?”

“Like what?” Sicheng says, even though what he means is: _yes_.

Yukhei plays along though, shrugging with a smile. “I don’t know, I’m good with anything really,” he says. “What do _you_ want?”

_What kind of first kiss do_ you _want_ , Yukhei had asked him what feels like a lifetime ago, in this exact same tone of voice. He’d lied then, when he’d said he didn’t know, and he wants to be honest now, wishes he had the courage to open up his chest and offer his most intimate truth to Yukhei— _I want you_ —but he bites his tongue instead.

“Instant ramen,” he says, swapping one truth out for another, easier one. This time, he isn’t faced with Yukhei’s disappointment, only a quiet sort of understanding.

Somehow, that hurts even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew. we're starting to head a little into angst territory (can't have any comfort without the hurt, after all) but i promise it won't be too much!!! i'm too soft-hearted to leave our boys hurting for too long, heh. hopefully it won't take too long for me to get the next update up ;;; in the meantime—i'm on twitter @D0NG4CHENG, and while i don't really tweet updates on my writing, i _do_ spend a lot of time getting emotional over winwin and lucas, so.


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